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MARGARET 




AND 


HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


CHAPTER I. 

In a small room, furnished so as to indicate its purport, — a 
study, — sat four girls. One, placed rather apart from the others, 
occupied herself in some fancy-work, denoting by this, as well as 
by her age and appearance, that she was no longer a school-girl ; 
neither could she be mistaken for a governess. Her rich dress 
and air rather pointed her out as a parlor-boarder among those 
who were diligently occupied in painting and drawing. 

A large, fair, indolent-looking girl was employed in copying 
the picture of a ohubby, smiling baby, while her neighbor, a 
dark-haired, bright-looking picture of a regular school-girl, strove 
in vain to impart a beautiful curl to the mustache of a knight. 
Her pencil was obstinate, and evidently possessed of a common- 
place miud, for nothing could induce it, guided by fingers ever so 
willing, to perform such “ a love of a mustache” as the original 
from which it was copying. 

In somewhat scornful distance from these two, sat a girl of 
eighteen, painting flowers. Now and then they tittered and 
laughed together, in a subdued tone, as if indulging in some jest 
at the expense of the flower-painter, who, erect and disdainful, 
showed no other symptom of annoyance than a slight dilating of 
her ijostril, and a curl of the lip, that approached a sneer 
too nearly not to mar her Saxon beauty. 

The graceful worker by the fire would raise her serene pure 
eyes to the school-girl scoffers, now and then, when they ventured 
a thought too far for politeness, and they would subdue their 
yoices, as if in answer to the appeal. Through the crevices 
1* (5) 


6 


MARGARET 


of large folding doors came the hum and murmur of a busy 
school, which opening now, filled the smaller room with sound, 
until the new comer shut the door. 

A little, slight, childish thing, with thick, rich curls in high 
confusion all over her head, proceeded to pour a quantity 
of counters, or good marks, into a little drawer in a bureau. 

“Ah! Lotty,” said the worker, “have you really gained all 
those ? ” 

“Where is Margaret?” answered Lotty, quickly, and looking 
from one to the other, with large, dark eyes of extraordinary in- 
telligence and beauty. 

“ She is here,” said a soft voice, at the small door of the 
apartment. 

They all exclaimed in various keys and phrases ; but Mar- 
garet’s face told a tale that hushed them. 

They had parted from her the evening before, a gay school- 
girl, as thoughtless and merry as themselves. 

But some extraordinary change had taken place. Margaret 
was blushing, confused, her eyes veiled, her voice tremulous as 
she said, in answer to their queries as to what had delayed her 
so long, — 

“ I have been engaged, I mean I am engaged ; I have only 
come for a few moments, I am going — that is, I wished to tell 
you myself, I am going to be married ! ” 

“ Law ! my dear ! ” exclaimed Florence* the mustache at- 
tempter. 

“How nice !” drawled Caroline, the baby delineator. 

. “ God bless my Margaret ! ” said Millicent, the worker. 

“ How very strange ! ” murmured the scornful' Augusta. 

u No ! ” came from the little compressed, angry lips of Lotty. 

“And mamma,” continued the blushing bride elect, “permits 
me to come and ask you, I mean she would be glad — and you 
know that I shall be so also ; O ! so happy, so pleased, if you 
will all be my bridesmaids.” 

“ I shall be delighted, my love,” cried Florence. 

“ How very nice ! ” exclaimed Caroline, with alacrity. 

“With heartfelt pleasure, sweet Meg,” whispered Millicent. 

“ If it is soon,” said Augusta, sententiously, “ I shall be happy 
to oblige you.” 

A most strenuous and indignant “ Never ! ” burst from the lips 
of the little Lotty, as she fled from the room. 

Then they all left their several occupations, hnd, in utter defi- 
ance of school hours and manners, they crowded round the blush- 
ing Margaret. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


7 


She had taken shelter at this important era of her life in the 
loving arms of Milly, her eyes glancing up but once, as the lit- 
tle, impetuous Lotty left the room ; then, the irrepressible smile 
of a new gladness born in a fine and sensitive heart, broke 
in dimples round her mouth, telling that tale the eyes hoped to 
conceal. 

“ What shall you be married in, dear?” said Caroline. 

“And how will the bridesmaids be dressed?” asked Florence, 
anxiously. 

“ Shall you be married in church, or by special license in the 
drawing-room ? the latter is so nice, and no trouble,” said Caro- 
line. 

“ Don’t have a bonnet, if you love me, but be covered with a 
veil from head to foot,” cried Florence. “And also other flowers 
are worn in the bridal wreath now, besides orange blossoms, 
which I think a blessing.” 

“A blessing on my Margaret,” whispered Milly’s gentle voice. 

“ But, my dear, who is the happy man ? ” said Augusta. “And 
may I beg you to be early in naming the day, otherwise I know 
not if I can officiate as bridesmaid.” 

“Pray, why not?” asked Florence, mockingly. 

“ I may be a bride myself,” answered Augusta, haughtily. 
“ My marriage is likely to take place within a few months.” 

“ To whom, I wonder ! ” exclaimed the two girls sarcastically. 
“ Is it the old postman, or the policeman round the corner?” 

“ For shame ! ” retorted Augusta ; “ you judge of me by your- 
selves ; a pair of hoiden school-girls, who canndt see when a 
gentleman shows his preference by the delicate attentions of 
a gentleman. I allude to Sir Harold Leigh.” 

“Who?” said Margaret, raising herself from Millicent’a 
arms ; “ ah, no, Augusta ! ” 

“ Wherefore not, my dear? Do you think no one has a lover 
but yourself? ” 

Margaret placed her hand on Augusta’s mouth. 

“ Hush ! ” she said, “ he is here, he is with mamma, he is my 
Harold, I am his Margaret.” 

And at this avowal the fair face grew crimson with blushes, 
and was fain to hide itself in Milly’s redundant curls. Augusta 
tried to laugh off her mistake with ill-concealed dismay, but the 
other girls were too happy in the prospects of a wedding and all 
its fun, to laugh at her as unmercifully as she deserved, so that 
she soon recovered her usual composure and assurance. 

Besides, they all loved Margaret so well, her happiness 
absorbed all other feelings. 


8 


MARGARET 


Caroline loved her, because she was so unselfish and generous, 
— virtues in which she did not shine herself. 

Florence, because Margaret was so simple and ingenuous, not 
able to say what she did not think (a quality quite out of Miss 
Florence’s way, by the by). 

Augusta loved her, or rather liked her, because Margaret was 
rich and well-born, and freely imparted the advantages of the 
first quality to those who required them. 

Millicent, because she saw in Margaret a pure and loving heart 
like her own, within the pious depths of which none knew the 
strength and power that would come forth. 

Lotty loved her — but Lotty is a wilful little thing, and it is 
hardly possible to say whom she loved, or why she loved. One 
thing alone was certain : when Lotty loved, it was no half 
measures — her heart and soul were alike involved. But the 
unusual commotion in the inner school-room had made itself 
known through the folding doors, and Miss Elton, the head gov- 
erness, appeared. 

Millicent divulged the happy tidings : Margaret was kissed and 
congratulated, a holiday given on the spot to the whole school, 
upon her whispered request, and, after asking for Millicent and 
Lotty to remain the day and evening with her, Margaret 
departed. 

A strange, fluttering sensation filled her heart, as she passed 
through the garden, and heard the merry laughter and joyous 
glee of her schoolmates. 

She felt happy, but it was an awe-struck happiness, that made 
her think the world too small to contain such feelings, and only 
in the pure and lofty firmament of heaven could she find space 
sufficient for the love and gratitude welling from her heart. It 
seemed to her as if a new sun, a fairer sky, a more brilliant 
world was placed before her ; and yet she had done nothing, had 
no claim to make for such gifts. Therefore they might fade ; 
to-morrow they might be gone — leaving behind that gray cloud 
of blight and disappointment, consequent upon such a flood of 
light and happiness. As she placed her hand upon her heart, to 
still its tumultuous beating, and that one dread feeling. “ could 
all this be real ? ” she heard a faint sob, which came from behind 
a tree. 

“ My little Lotty ! ” exclaimed Margaret, springing to her 
school-fellow’s side. 

“ Why do you wish to marry?” murmured Lotty, turning her 
wet face from Margaret’s kisses. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


9 


“ Because, because ” began Margaret. 

11 Was not I your husband?” interrupted Lotty, impetuously ; 
“ and have not I always been your little fond, foolish husband, 
ever since I came to school ? ” 

“ Yes, my Lotty, and so you shall always be my little school- 
husband.” 

“Then why do you want another? I have always been a 
very kind, good husband ; mended all your pens, done all your 
sums, run all your messages, and would have told fibs for you.” 

u That last was quite unnecessary, you know, little Lotty ” 

u Don’t joke with me, I cannot bear it. But who is he? I 
don’t mind your marrying one person that I know of, and if it 
is him I won’t fret any more, for it is very fatiguing.” 

Margaret could only whisper the name. 

Lotty exclaimed loudly. 

“0, hush, Lotty ! ” besought Margaret. 

“ I thought that man was making love to Augusta.” 

“ And so did poor Augusta herself,” said Margaret, her eyes 
drooping. 

“ However,” said Lotty, brightening up, “ I always told her 
the truth, that he really did not care for her one straw, but 
admired you more, and I was right.” 

“ Poor Augusta ! ” murmured Margaret, her new sun, bright 
world, and happy feelings beginning to fade. 

“ Not at all,” said Lotty ; “ she made the most love, and be- 
sides he has shown his good taste, though he is not the right 
man, mind, Margaret, so I never will give my consent. He is 
a good judge of a horse, though ; Lucifer, the steeple-chaser, 
belongs to him ; I should like to ride that horse, Queen Meg.” 

“ Nonsense, Lotty ! ” 

“ Why say ‘nonsense,’ Margaret? I will try and reconcile 
myself to the marriage, if you will ask Sir Harold to let me ride 
Lucifer sometimes.” 

“ He may consent, but I shall not, Lotty.” 

“ Supposing he were to throw me, which no horse ever did 
yet, Margaret, you won’t care,' you will be thinking of your 
lev ” 

• “ Hush, you naughty Lotty ; why should I love you less? ” 

“ I might have guessed what was going to happen, if I had 
had the sense of a mouse, and then I could have warned you, 
Margaret.” 

“Against what, Lotty?” 

“ Marrying Sir Harold Leigh. I know some one who loves 
you much better ” 


10 


MARGARET 


“ Lotty, Lotty ! ” 

“ And so this is the reason we have been asked so often to 
your house, this lifilf year, and Sir Harold always there ; and 
thus it comes you like to talk of horses and dogs, and I, like 
a goose, listening to it all so unsuspiciously. I don’t deserve to 
be Charlotte Beauvilliers.” 


CHAPTER II. 

Margaret was the only child left to her parents out of many, 
and had been born in their old age as it were. 

Some of their children had married and left descendants, but 
the affection they had bestowed alike on son and daughter was 
now wholly concentrated on the blooming girl of eighteen. Not 
even his fine sturdy grandsons (all that remained to him of his 
first-born son) could rival, in old Sir Thomas’s eyes, the shadow 
of his daughter’s form ; while “ Margaret, my Margaret, sweet 
Margaret,” formed the pith of all Lady Montagu’s conversation. 

To lose nothing of her sweet company, they had for the last 
five years lived in Bath, where Margaret could have the advan- 
tage of masters and companions of her own age. They were so 
unselfish in their love, they would not tie her merry spirit down 
to their aged fireside, but lovingly said to each other, “ What 
have we now to live for, but to make Margaret happy ? ” 

In the merry companionship of her schoolmates, the gentle, 
quiet home of her parents, Margaret had grown up, the simplest, 
most innocent-hearted girl, as she was almost the prettiest and 
best. She had but just experienced her first sorrow, namely, 
that she was to leave school, and part with her girlhood’s friends, 
unknowing if they might meet again, when she made that abrupt 
entry into the school-room, with the announcement that was 
almost as startling to her as to them. In their daily school 
walks the girls were aware (as what girls are not?) that they 
attracted much attention. 

Some were keenly alive to it, as Augusta, Florence, and Caro- 
line ; others scarcely noticed it, as Margaret and Millicent ; 
again, little turbulent spirits like Lotty’s were indignant at such 
implied rudeness. 

Certainly, the little jealous school-husband had cause for being 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


11 


irate. No sooner did the school emerge from the house-door, 
all bonneted and shawled, escorted by, and under the strict sur- 
veillance of, the English and French governesses, than the hand- 
somest man in Bath came curveting down the street on the 
most beautify horse in the town. 

Slowly, at\n funereal pace, went the well-trained steed, by the 
long two-and-two line ; the rider’s eyes generally riveted, as 
Lotty indignantly declared, on Margaret ; as Augusta exultingly 
believed, on herself. The gaze (if she caught it) but deepened 
the bloom on Margaret’s cheek ; but she was too much engaged 
to attend to it. This was her time for telling stories to the little 
girls, and at present the tale was most alarmingly interesting, 
and was duly repeated at night by the one favored little maiden, 
who heard it from the fountain’s head, to the others, when sup- 
posed to be innocently sleeping. 

Sir Harold might have been satisfied had he been able to gain 
as much of Margaret’s attention as he did of Augusta’s. But 
after six weeks’ gazing, he found he made no advance, so he 
contrived an introduction to Sir Thomas and Lady Montagu. 

There he certainly was in the same room with the lovely face 
which had so riveted his attention as to make him forget hunt- 
ing, racing, and steeple-chasing, and all other sports so dear to 
his heart. But he did not make much way. 

In fact, being an experienced man of the world, having been 
courted, flattered, spoiled, and made much of, he could not under- 
stand the shy, sensitive heart, that belonged to the prettiest face 
he had ever seen. 

One evening, after devoting a whole hour to entertaining 
Margaret with stories of his horses and dogs, and seeing, with 
pleasure, how her shy eyes began furtively to glance up into his, 
with evident interest ; how they rested for full ten seconds on his 
face, giving him time to see how dark and soft they were, when 
he told of his favorite horse’s love for him ; how the half smile 
was beginning to break into irrepressible dimples, and the rosy 
bps to give glimpses of the little white teeth within, he was 
wholly unprepared for the unrestrained look of delight with 
which she spraug from this most interesting conversation to greet 
her school-fellows. 

They had been invited to tea that evening : and as the stately 
Augusta swam into the seat Margaret had so willingly vacated, 
he pished and pshawed himself into a vile humor, and determined 
to be revenged. So he devoted himself entirely to Augusta ; and 
when he glanced round now and then, to see if the lesson were 


12 


MARGARET 


taking effect, his state of mind was not improved by discovering 
that nobody seemed to be caring in the least how he and Augusta 
were amusing themselves. 

Lotty, Milly, Carry, and Flo., were all in high glee, and Mar- 
garet the merriest among them ; but there was 'a glow on her 
cheek, and a light in her eyes, which made Harold fancy that, 
without knowing it, she was happy in his evident attentions. 

Notwithstanding, she did not seem the least affected by his 
flirtation with Augusta. 

He overheard her telling them about his horse, and was sen- 
sible of such a pleasurable emotion thereat, that he did not heed 
Augusta in the very middle of a sentimental harangue, and her 
evident discomposure became apparent to Carry and Flo., much 
to the gratification of those two worthy young ladies. 

As he went away, Margaret raised her fawn’s eyes and said, 
in a low, shy voice, — 

“ Will you ride that horse when you pass us again?” 

“ With great pleasure,” he answered, in nearly as low a voice ; 
but his heart bounded, and he was glad to rush out into the 
street, and then away into the fields, under the broad moonlight, 
to give some scope to his joy. 

“ To think, after having passed unscathed through all the 
courts of Europe, that I should at last be caught by a simple 
school-girl. She is so fresh, so shy, so natural ! what soft loving 
glances she gives her father and mother ! she must be mine ! I 
am too impatient to wait longer. Besides, if I do not provide 
myself with a decisive impediment, in the shape of a wife, 
Augusta Clare will marry me by force. Nevertheless, if I speak 
to Margaret, I know I shall undo the work of the last six weeks ; 
her shy nature will prompt her to reject me at once. I will call 
on Sir Thomas to-morrow, and state all my wishes and inten- 
tions ; and I will ask his consent to visit them constantly, with 
the avowed intention of making myself acceptable to his sweet 
daughter. I knew I was not mistaken the first time I saw her 
walking ; such a lovely figure, such a perfect walker, so light 
and elegant, yet so firm and dignified ! I admired the walk for 
a whole week before I saw the face, and when she becomes 
frank and open with me, as she is with her father and mother, 
and when I am permitted to excite and join in the happy glad- 
ness of her spirit, how like a sunbeam she will prove ! Ah ! 
how she will brighten up our dull, stately home, where my 
mother rules at present, with Prudence and Propriety, as I call 
my two sisters. And my mother, she must be pleased with her ! 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


13 


for who could resist sweet Margaret? while Pru. and Pro. will 
learn to look upon her as a stray star, wandering there solely to 
enliven and shine upon them. I believe the dulness of home has 
hitherto alarmed me with regard to matrimony, devoutly as my 
mother has wished for such an event. I shall certainly speak to 
Sir Thomas to-morrow. Her eyes are like brown velvet, and all 
her movements the perfection of lady-like grace. Sweet Mar- 
garet ! I could never be unhappy with you.” 


CHAPTER III. 

Harold fulfilled his over-night intentions. Now, it cannot 
be denied that Sir Thomas and Lady Montagu were more 
grieved than pleased at his communication, albeit that the 
matter was so flattering to their Margaret. 

“ She is so young,” pleaded the father. 

u She is our only one,” murmured the mother. 

u We hoped to keep her always,” said Sir Thomas. 

“ We cannot expect to live much louger,” sighed Lady Mon- 
tagu. 

Harold was sensibly affected. Notwithstanding a very good 
heart, he was unaccustomed to consult any other wishes than 
his own ; and he did not see why, because they were so alive to 
the merits of their Margaret, they should insist upon keeping 
such a charming girl all to themselves. 

“ I grant she is very young,” said Harold ; “ but I dare say 
it will be six months and more before she will permit me to be 
sufficiently intimate to begin to make love, much less tell her so. 
Though I have now seen her every day for six weeks, I have 
never even shaken hands with her, and she never voluntarily 
spoke to me until last night.” 

“ True, very true,” said Sir Thomas ; “ our Margaret is very 
shy.” 

“ She is very timid, I know, in some things,” said Lady Mon- 
tagu. * 

“ All I wish to do now, is to gain your permission to try and 
win her affections. Knowing how my feelings were warming 
towards her, I could not visit at your house without informing 
you of nr~ hopes and intentions,” said Harold. 

2 


14 


MARGARET 


“Very honorable, indeed, I must say/’ said Sir Thomas. 
“My dear Anne, Sir Harold is a man of honor.” 

“ Indeed he is, and we ought to be grateful, I am sure,” said 
Lady Montagu, looking just the contrary. “ He comes of a very 
good family, Sir Thomas, I know, for your mother I remember 
very well, Sir Harold ; she was lady-in-waiting to good Queen 
Charlotte, and amid all the state and reserve of that court, she 
ever bore the palm of the most dignified and discreet.” 

Harold bowed at this praise of liis mother, while he mentally 
said, “No wonder my mother is so stiff and stately, and Leigh 
Court so dull and precise. If I succeed in gaining her affections, 
I do not see why you should not come and live near us,” he con- 
tinued, aloud. 

“ Dear, dear,” said Lady Montagu, “ you are too quick, you 
anticipate too much, Sir Harold. Margaret may not, perhaps, 
like you,” continued she, brightening up. 

Harold smiled ; certainly a smile of self-satisfied import ; nev- 
ertheless, he replied, “ Perhaps not.” 

“Well, well,” said Sir Thomas, “now let us drop the sub- 
ject, it makes me nervous and fretful. But you are an honor- 
able young man, Sir Harold, and we ought to be obliged to you, 
though we do not exactly feel so.” 

“ Then I may visit the house, and try to win Miss Montagu’s 
heart, if I can ? ” said Harold. 

“ Yes, I suppose so. I suppose we must not stand in her 
light ; we must let her judge for herself, poor pet ; but I hope 
you may think better of it. I truly hope you may see another 
face that you like better than our Margaret’s.” 

So Sir Harold took his leave, none the less anxious to obtain 
the dear Margaret from the difficulty there seemed to be about it. 

“My dear Anne,” said Sir Thomas, after their visitor had 
departed, “ I will tell you what we will do. We must ask all 
Margaret’s prettiest school-fellows here ; you must find out all 
the belles of Bath, and on the evenings that Sir Harold is here, 
we will surround him with such pretty faces, that he will not see 
our sunny Margaret, the light of our old age.” 

“ A very good idea, Sir Thomas, and I will also renew my 
acquaintance with Lady Katherine ; she may not, perhaps, like 
the connection ; our Margaret may be too simple and natural for 
such a grand lady, and she may forbid the marriage. I have 
always heard that her son was very dutiful, and she, I know, 
carries duty, etiquette, and propriety to the extreme verge, and 
has always kept her children in full order.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


15 


“ It seems to me, Anne, that we are becoming two selfish, 
hypocritical people in our old age ; but if we lose our Margaret, 
I think our business in this world is well nigh over.” 

“ I shall feel as if it were, I am sure,” said Lady Montagu, 
her tears falling; “nevertheless, we will bear everything, so 
that sweet Meg is happy. We will hope that she loves her old 
father and mother too fondly to wish to leave them so soon. I 
will always ask that pretty Miss Clare here with her ; she seems 
greatly taken with Sir Harold, and is, in manners and appear- 
ance, much more fitted for a great lady than our Margaret.” 

Sir Thomas and Lady Montagu were simple-minded, good, 
kind people. They thought themselves very treacherous and 
hypocritical, inviting all the prettiest girls in the neighborhood 
to meet the wolf that had come to steal their lamb, and yet it 
never occurred to them that they had a much surer way of keep- 
ing their Margaret than the means they now employed. They 
had but to say, or even do no more than imply, that they 
hoped, while their little span of life lasted, that she would re- 
main with them, and the warm, sensitive heart would have 
responded instantly. All the lovers in Christendom, were they 
handsomer than Adonis, and more amiable and devoted than the 
knights of old, could not have obtained entrance to Margaret’s 
heart, with her parents’ wishes to guard the door. 

But they had never allowed her to know how necessary she 
was to their happiness ; in their unselfish love, they had ever 
placed her little pleasures and wishes as completely separated 
from theirs ; yet, at the same time, were so anxious that she 
should enjoy them. Margaret, if she ever thought on the sub- 
ject, might have imagined they considered her a grandchild 
rather than a daughter. 

Once or twice circumstances had so occurred as to make Mar- 
garet think, “ How sorry mamma must be that I am so young, 
and that I was not born about the same time as my other sis- 
ters.” She was so simple, modest, and humble, that it never 
entered her innocent mind .she was the cynosure of any circle, 
and with such natures it is not difficult to believe, that when 
once they are aware of the fact, once they feel the value of their 
love to another, death alone can extinguish the feeling thus 
awakened, the grave only do away with these first impressions. 

It was so with Margaret. By degrees she became aware that 
she was an object of interest to another ; she, avIio thought it so 
good of everybody to love her ; so kind of her father to let her 
kneel by his chair, and play with his white curls ; so good of 


16 


MARGARET 


her mother to allow her to fly over the house on all sorts of 
messages. 

At first, she confided to her school-husband that it would be 
very nice if Sir Harold was her brother, then he could call her 
Margaret, without saying that formal Miss Montagu.’* 

“ And I suppose you would call him Harold?” said the little 
fiery school-husband. 

“ Yes, of course,” said Margaret ; u Harold, not Sir Harold ; 
it sounds very nice, does it not, Lotty ? ” 

u No, it sounds very forward and Augustaish of you, and I 
won’t allow you to do it.” 

“ O, no,” said Margaret, “ not for the world — how could 
you tli ink I would do it?” 

So thus it came to pass that the experienced man of the world 
‘gained his end, against the simple, unworldly- wise old couple ; 
and thus it came to pass that Margaret uttered the memorable 
speech, half hidden by the school-room door ; and also thus it 
happened, Miss Augusta Clare had a little method in her mad- 
ness, when she promulgated the fact that she intended to marry 
Sir Harold herself. She had met him quite as often as Mar- 
garet, according to old Sir Thomas’s base arrangement, and she 
had talked to him a great deal more. 

For whereas Margaret was very shy, retiring, and difficult of 
access, Augusta took an ell for every one of Sir Harold’s inches, 
and made the most of them. 


CHAPTER IY. 

So Margaret accepted Sir Harold, and the wedding-day was 
fixed, she all unknowing of the blank that now fell on her aged 
parents’ existence, while they, as heretofore, studiously concealed 
from her anything but their warm interest in her happiness, and 
seemed to take such a pride and delight in her trousseau, car- 
riages, horses, and bridesmaids, that Margaret could only say to 
herself, “ They will be so happy together, now they have no wild 
girl to trouble them ; and I hope my Harold and I may be like 
them when we grow old.” 

Nothing could exceed the stately condescension with which 
Lady Katherine Leigh received her intended daughter-in-law ; 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


17 


and the pale Pru. absolutely kissed the bright girl with fervor, 
while the meek, quiet Pro. became quite flushed and animated 
on hearing they were to be bridesmaids. 

Although of an antique age compared to Margaret, being 
some years older even than their brother, Pru. and Pro. (whose 
real names were Charlotte and Georgina, in reverential memory 
of the Court, wherein Lady Katherine shone so conspicuously), 
were still considered young girls by their courtly mamma. 

They always walked behind her like two model maids of honor, 
attendant on a despotic sovereign ; they courtesied on leaving her 
gracious presence, they asked permission to take the air, and 
even to the color of their dresses and ribbons all was deferred 
to their mother. Pru. had once indulged in a little flight of 
emancipation, which led to the discovery that she had absolutely 
been seen speaking, upon several occasions, to the curate. 

Urged by incipient love, Pru. feebly chirped forth that “ he 
was a very good young man.” The shade of Queen Charlotte 
rose before the indignant mother, but history does not say how 
Pru. was brought to reason. Doubtless the way was stringent, 
for the cure was effectual ; Pru. and Pro. were never seen to 
speak voluntarily after that to any man under eighty years of 
age. 

Sir Harold was very generous. He presented each bridesmaid 
with her dress complete, and a turquoise ring ; but Lotty was 
firm in her determination not to be one of these favored mortals, 
which Florence and Caroline, with more candor than politeness, 
told her was a very good thing, as there would have been an odd 
bridesmaid ; now the numbers were even. 

“ I don’t care how odd I am,” said Lotty, taking the matter* 
literally. 

Neither the policeman nor the postman having proposed, as 
Floreuce and Caroline maliciously hinted, Augusta was able to 
officiate as bridesmaid. The two former were so far justified in 
their unladylike remarks, that Augusta’s cupidity, in the way of 
admiration, made her swallow anything from anybody that fed 
her vanity. She was a beautiful girl, very fair, with sunny 
hair flowing in thick curls over cheeks quite rivalling the peach 
in bloom. A fine, tall figure, rounded in proportion, with the 
utmost grace ; and a bewitching, sweet, taking manner, that 
would beguile a weak man of his heart at first sight. Her eyes 
were peculiarly beautiful, the lids so white and full : the eye> 
lashes almost black, and the orbs themselves of a clear blue. 

Sir Thomas and Lady Montagu might well have hoped that a 
2 * 


18 


MARGARET 


being so gifted by Nature would prove more attractive than 
their simple, pretty Margaret. But a true man of the world 
will only give his heart into Nature’s keeping. He laughs, talks, 
sentimentalizes with girls like Augusta ; his heart he places 
in the keeping of a loving, simple nature like Margaret’s. 

So the wedding-day came, and Lotty agreed she would take 
care of Sir Thomas while the others were at church. 

44 He and I do not approve of the marriage,” said Lotty with 
dignity ; 44 though I allow Harold is not a bad fellow ; he has 
promised me a son of Lucifer’s, and he will be rising five about 
the time I leave school, which will be just the thing.” 

44 Did one ever hear such language ? ” said Flo. to Carry, as 
they arranged each other’s dresses. 

Lady Montagu would fain have remained at home with her 
husband ; her heart felt ill at ease, and only her utter forgetful- 
ness of self made her attempt the exertion. She could not but 
think of the three daughters she had already seen married under 
the happiest auspices, and now they were no more. Was this 
to be the fate of the youngest, most gifted, most beloved? 

“ God’s will be done ! ” she whispered to herself many times ; 
and often she had to appeal to the same gracious help for strength 
to support this day, without the loved object of her unselfish 
affections perceiving on this, which ought to be the happiest day 
of her life, the sorrow they were suffering. 

Poor Sir Thomas shook with suppressed emotion as the gentle, 
fair girl knelt for his blessing, before proceeding to the church, 
while she felt — as what bride has not ? — that it was agony to 
4 leave her childhood’s home for an untried affection, a new 
existence. 

“ If papa would but say, 4 Stay, my child,’ I could not, would 
not leave him,” said she to herself. 

But the good old man fondly kissed her, and exerting himself 
for her sake, that she might not see his grief and sorrow, he 
feebly made an attempt at cheerfulness, saying, — 

“ My darling will be Lady Leigh when I again see her.” 

Lotty, with tearful eyes, did her best to cheer his spirits, as 
the fair vision, white as marble, passed from his sight. 

“ Sir Harold loves her very much, no doubt,” said she, 44 though 
no one can love her as we do, can they, Sir Thomas? ” 

44 No! no ! not as her fond old parents do.” 

44 And I, Sir Thomas, too !.” said Lotty, with a little acrimony ; 
44 but though Sir Harold is a very good fellow, I wish we had 
not let her marry so soon, because I know of a much better 
match for her.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


19 


“ My dear what are you saying?” said the old man, who was 
beginning to think Lotty’s mode of consolation none of the best. 

“ I think if Margaret had waited until Basil Erie had come 
home, he would have asked her to marry him. I don’t know 
much about love-matters, but I am almost sure, when we were 
all staying with you last holidays, Basil was falling into down- 
right love with Margaret ; and you know what Basil is, such a 
fellow ! ” 

“ My dear boy ! ” said Sir Thomas, “ I believe, indeed, there 
are few like him.” 

The old man, between grief, the tears that Dlinded his eyes, 
and Lotty’s peculiar style of conversation, was becoming oblivious 
of the sex of his companion. 

Lotty flushed up, and then continued in a softer voice, — 

“ Basil is just as good a man as Millicent is a woman, they 
are a worthy brother and sister ; and though I am very young, 
Sir Thomas, not more than fifteen, I have seen a great deal of 
life, and of men, and I never saw any one like Basil. I don’t 
like men in general, excepting the Beauvilliers ; I think them 

stupid, egotistical fel creatures I mean ; but if Margaret had 

waited to marry Basil, then she would have lived all her life 
close to you, and that would have been much better.” 

“ Very, very true; but I never heard that Basil wanted our 
Margaret,” said poor Sir Thomas. 

“ Well, he never did say so, more’s the pity; he might have 
guessed before he went abroad that every man who ever saw 
Margaret would want to marry her. I am sure I should.” 

u And why did you not say so, my dear? for if you had, then 
perhaps you would not have minded living with us.” 

“ No ! I should have liked it of all things ; but I should not 
have been good enough for Margaret ; only Basil is.” 

“ But when did he propose, my dear?” 

“ He never did, Sir Thomas, and that’s the worst of it, and I 
know he will be dreadfully unhappy when he hears Margaret is 
married. Perhaps he will kill himself, though I think he is too 
sensible for that. But I will tell you how I know. I love Mar- 
garet better than any other woman in the world, I don’t mind 
telling you, Sir Thomas.”' 

“ She deserves it, my dear boy . l she deserves every one’s 
love.” 

Lotty winced again, and again modulated her voice to a lady- 
like pitch. 

u Soj loving Margaret as I did, I soon saw who loved her 


20 


MARGARET 


besides ; and I felt that my love was just a grain of sand to what 
Basil could give, and I dare say he would have told Margaret, 
but then she was a school-girl. Besides, you know what a bad 
character his father bears, and what a wretch Lady Erlscourt 
is, so I suppose he thought it wrong to take Margaret to such a 
house as that.” 

“ But they could have lived with us, my dear, and Basil is 
such a good young man,” sighed Sir Thomas. 

“ ‘ Good ’ does not express what he is,” returned Lotty ; u but 
it is too late now ; here they are all coming back from church.” 

“ Well, God’s will be done ! I hope we have acted for the 
best,” said Sir Thomas. 

u We might have done better, I think,” replied the sorry little 
comforter. 

11 What will Anne say ! she is so fond of those two, Basil and 
Millicent ; I doubt we have been too hasty, Margaret was too 
young, yes, too young to marry. I thought that, Anne. Anne, 
we were too hasty. Dear me, dear me ! ” And the poor old 
man sobbed aloud. 

u For goodness’ sake, don’t do that ! ” exclaimed the alarmed 
Lotty, “ they will think I have been beating you. And here is 
Lady Montagu being carried in as if she had fainted.” 

Startled out of his grief, Sir Thomas hurried out to meet the 
poor mother, and being both utterly unable to control their feel- 
ings longer, they fell sobbing into each others’ arms. 

Alarmed at this unwonted display, Margaret flew to them from 
her husband’s arm. 

“ O mamma ! papa ! O mamma ! papa ! ” was all she could 
say at first. 

u I will not leave you. I cannot go. My own dear father 
and mother, bid your Margaret stay ever with you.” 

“ O, hush, dear Meg,” whispered Milly ; “ remember the 
vows you have just pronounced.” 

“ But papa ! mamma ! my kind loving parents. Can this 
grief be for me ? is it my loss they mourn thus ? 0 Milly, I 

must not, cannot leave them.” 

“ Remember, dearest, they may be overcome with the recol- 
lection of your sisters. See, Harold wonders at you. Let them 
grieve a little. Leave them to themselves, for none know what 
their loving hearts have suffered.” 

Lotty and Millicent led the afflicted parents into another room, 
while Harold drew Margaret aside, and whispered fond, endear- 
ing words to her, saying that now she was his, her word should 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


21 


be his law ; and if she wished to stay with her parents, she 
should ; she had only to name her wishes and he would consent. 

Margaret raised the seldom-seen eyes to hi3 face. In the one 
short glance he read the world of love she could bestow. The 
sensitive maiden heart opened to let the wife’s devotion enter, 
and Harold knew that the grave alone could extinguish the love 
expressed in that glance. Proud and elated, he continued, as he 
folded her in his arms, “ God forbid, my sweet wife, that my 
first act as a husband should be to take you from your parents : 
go, settle with them what you like ; what pleases you will do 
the same by me.” 

But the constant habits of forbearance which they practised, 
shortly came to the aid of the fond father and mother. 

Margaret was permitted to think that a tide of old recollec- 
tions had overcome them, though she could not avoid seeing the 
extent to which they mourned for her. 

It was agreed, that instead of going abroad, the bride and 
bridegroom should return in a short time to the old hall of her 
father, u Montagu House,” and in looking forward to this 
speedy reunion, they were enabled to bid their darling u God 
speed : ” while she left them in some degree comforted, more 
than all recollecting the kind and loving way in which her Harold 
had come forward, when he might have resented her first con- 
jugal act. In her heart of hearts she promised him her life’s 
devotions. We must trace her through it, and in the mean time 
wonder if, like Lotty, we shall say at the close of it, — 

“ Margaret was very foolish not to wait for Basil.” 


CHAPTER V. 

I think we ought to learn who u Basil” and “ Millicent” are. 
On the borders of the New Forest in Hampshire rose the 
stately towers of Lord Erlscourt’s castle. 

The family were neither old nor particularly wealthy, so that 
the present lord did not disdain the appointment of Ranger of 
the Forest. He had married, early in life, a very beautiful and 
amiable woman of high rank and some wealth. During her life- 

O c - } 

time the family were much loved and respected, and the embar- 
rassed estates (left so by the present lord’s predecessor), under 


22 


MARGARET 


her judicious sway were becoming free and unencumbered. 
Unfortunately for her husband and the estates, still more for 
her children, she died from the effects of a low, lingering fever, 
that often hangs about a densely wooded country. Either soured 
by her loss, or losing that restraint which her fine and noble 
character intuitively put upon one very much the reverse, Lord 
Erlscourt became a very different man. 

He grew careless and indifferent about his habits and appear- 
ance. He became mixed up with a number of very questionable 
characters, and report was rife with tales of his midnight doings ; 
when, instead of putting down the lawless poaching and glaring 
thefts of wood, he was described as head poacher and principal 
thief. 

He consummated the ruin of his character as a gentleman and 
an honorable man, by marrying a handsome but vulgar girl, 
niece to one of his under officers, whose former life could by no 
means bear an inspection. 

Elated by her unexpected rise in life, the new Lady Erlscourt 
added, to other disagreeable qualities, so much vanity and over- 
weening pride, as to disgust even those of her own grade. 
With the low vulgarity of a small mind, and the vindictiveness 
of a very base one, she poured upon the heads of her unfortunate 
step-children so much mean and petty persecution, that Basil, 
the boy, ran away. 

He was then about ten years old, and his little heart beat and 
swelled with indignation at the treatment both he and his gentle 
sister had borne ; the bitter wrong caused him to reason and 
think with premature wisdom. 

“Iam very strong for my age,” said the little fellow to him- 
self, “ and I know the wood paths in every direction. I shall 
go to-night as far as the hollow oak, and in the morning I will 
strike up to the left, and if I run as well as walk, I shall be at 
Montagu House by ten o’clock. I will tell Sir Thomas what 
we have to endure. I shall ask him to send for Milly. I shall 
refuse ever to return to my father’s house unless she is released ; 
then, if they will not let her come, I shall ask Sir Thomas to 
take me before a magistrate, and I will swear, swear solemnly 
by that great God who has made our own mother an angel in 
heaven, that we are starved, beaten, and ill treated, and Sir 
Thomas must write to grandpapa.” 

Thus soliloquizing, the little fellow ran with unabated energy 
and speed towards his intended resting-place. He felt no fear at 
passing the long night in the dark woods. He remembered 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


28 


nothing but his little sister’s cries of agony at her step-mother’s 
harsh treatment, and when he reached the old oak tree, he knelt 
upon the rustling bed of leaves at the foot, and prayed the Lord 
God of heaven to assist him in his designs, and whispered to 
himself, as he climbed up into his resting-place, u My dear angel 
mother will watch me while I sleep.” 

And he slept the sound sleep of the innocent ; nevertheless the 
important step he was about to take seemed to move him in his 
sleep, for he awoke at the first faint streak of light that came 
stealing through the trees. Hastily descending (for he seemed 
to know intuitively that Lady Erlscourt would never let him 
escape, and that the knowledge of his flight would only make her 
the more determined to get him again into her power), he lost 
no time in pursuing his way. Every nerve braced by the fear 
of being captured, every instinct startled by the danger into 
forethought and judgment, with very few mistakes, the little fel- 
low at last saw Montagu House before him. 

Faint and exhausted, he made one last effort, and as he did 
so, he heard in the woods he had just left, the cracking of whips 
and shouting of men, which thrilled him with the knowledge 
that the pursuers were on his track. 

The large window of the breakfast-room at Montagu House 
was wide open, and as Basil approached, he saw it was full of 
people. 

“ I am unable to say a word, I am so ill and faint, and 
those people will be here ere I can tell all, and I shall be taken 
back. O ! mother, mother, why did you die and leave your 
poor children ! ” 

At this moment he saw, not ten yards from him, a little girl, 
who was gazing at him with unbounded amazement. Basil 
sprang forward, and grasped her dress. 

“ Do you hear those people in the wood?” he gasped breath- 
lessly. “ And that noise? they are looking for me.” 

u Why do you run from them?” she answered. 

“ Because they beat and ill-used me, and I have run this 
morning many miles to tell Sir Thomas Montagu ; but I am 
so tired and faint — they will be here before I can do so — will 
you hide me until they go ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” said the little girl, “ come with me.” 

They ran together down a gravel walk which led to a con- 
servatory, from thence a narrow staircase wound up to the 
highest story of the old-fashioned Elizabethan house. 

Holding his hand fast, she darted into a large sort of empty 
lumber-room, and bidding him lock himself in, said, — 


24 


MARGARET 


“ I shall get you some milk.” 

“ She ran down stairs again, locking the last door as well as 
she could, and entered the large open window' just as the caval- 
cade of horsemen appeared upon the lawn. 

There was no mistaking. Sir Thomas Montagu’s utter igno- 
rance as to any fugitive having been seen near his house ; be- 
sides, it was almost incredible that a boy of such tender age 
could have travelled so far •without food or help. So that the 
party prepared to depart just as the little girl had collected her 
portion of breakfast, and was asking permission to eat it out of 
doors. This being granted, she but waited to see them fairly 
away, ere she tripped up first with a cup of milk. 

Her prisoner had not locked the door, he was lying in a deep, 
exhausted faint on the floor. 

“ Mamma ! mamma ! ” said the little fairy thing, as she flew 
dow r n the house stairs ; “ come with me, I w r ant you.” 

Her mother could not resist the earnest appeal. 

“ Don’t tell papa yet, pray don’t. I promised I would not, it 
is such a secret ! Dear mamma ! you must wait until he is well, 
that he may tell you everything himself.” 

In much amazement Lady Montagu listened to the talk of her 
little girl, and fairly cried out when she saw the beautiful, pale 
face of an apparently dead boy. Comprehending in a moment 
what her little girl only half understood, she lifted up the worn- 
out frame, and carrying it tenderly into her own room, she laid 
it on a bed. Then the fleet-footed little maiden ran hither and 
thither, according to her mother’s directions, for restoratives, 
her excitement rendered double by the fact that it was her 
secret and hers only. She was standing eagerly watching her 
mother’s face as she bathed the broad, fair brow, and poured 
the tiny restorative drops between the colorless lips. 

A sigh, a shiver through the limbs. The large, beautiful 
eyes opened for a moment, and gazed on the kind face bending 
over him. 

“ Mother,” he faintly said and smiled, and seemed to die 
away again. 

But Lady Montagu redoubled her efforts, and again conscious- 
ness seemed to be restored. The eyes opened and looked in- 
quiringly, first on her, and then fell on the little girl ; a color 
flushed his face, he tried to stretch out his hand, but was too 
weak. But the lips opened, and with a smile of ineffable sweet- 
ness he half whispered, “ Basil thanks you.” And this was the 
first meeting of Margaret and Basil. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


25 


It is needless to say that as soon as Basil could tell his tale, 
Sir Thomas was quite ready to listen to it ; and acted with so 
much judgment and discretion in the matter, that no alternative 
remained to the weak and reprehensible father but to yield up 
his children to their grandfather’s care and protection. The con- 
duct of Lady Erlscourt was so well known and notorious, that 
they were glad to hush the matter up any how. 

And thus it fell out that the two poor, ill-used children came 
to have an honored and happy home, and received the education 
their rare and fine qualities deserved. And fortunately this time 
continued until Basil was nineteen, just two years before Mar- 
garet’s marriage. 

At that time their grandfather died, and then came a check- 
ered and trying season, which served to prove that the spirit 
of the mother had fallen on the children, and that they were 
meant to bear the burdens of life with the lofty, firm faith of 
Christians. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Lotty, or rather Charlotte Beauvilliers, must not be passed 
cursorily over, as if a thing as small in importance as she was 
in person. Margaret’s little school-husband was born of a pecu- 
liar people, and in a peculiar manner, as befits a heroine. 

The Beauvilliers were a race of strong, sturdy Britons ; true 
hearts of oak dwelt in their fine, athletic frames ; and as is often 
the case, under gigantic proportions simple and kind hearts are 
to be found, so it was with them. Fearless, guileless, frank, 
and ingenuous, no one ever heard that a Beauvilliers did an 
action of which he was ashamed. Perhaps no great intellect 
was to be found among them, but warm-hearted, generous 
deeds followed their steps. And for no virtue were they more 
conspicuous than for family love. Brothers dwelt side by side, 
and seemed to love each other more, the closer they lived to- 
gether. Large families were brought up in love and amity ; 
none ever heard a Beauvilliers use a harsh word or say an 
unkind thing. A jovial, hilarious, vigorous race, they bound 
themselves to the country and soil, eschewing towns and profes- 
sions, as something of another sphere than theirs. 

Those who were rich enough, hunted, shot, and fished ; those 

3 


26 


MARGARET 


who were not, farmed, dug, delved, and planted ; none were ab- 
solutely poor, and none were more than commonly rich. They 
had no expensive wants, but were generally remarkable for their 
simple tastes. 

One other peculiarity existed in the race of Beauvilliers, the 
preponderance of males in the family ; a girl was now and then 
born, but they were so scarce, that they were considered as sorts 
of natural curiosities, and treated accordingly. 

About fifty years before our story commences, one Beauvil- 
liers, larger, taller, stronger than the rest, with an extra portion 
of bonhommie and kindness, had been made, through these gifts, 
a sort of head of the family ; he rejoiced in six sons. When he 
died, the eldest of these was worthily appointed to fill his place, 
being the true scion of his fine, old, jovial father ; and he had 
six sons, all true Beauvillians. The youngest of these, at the 
age of eight years, was found thrashing a boy twice his size, for 
ill-treating a little girl ; and he was brought into the parlor, 
flushed with excitement, and covered with blood and glory. 

“ Really/’ said his mother, “ I think it is full time Norman 
went to school.” 

“ He is our youngest, Belle,” said the father. “ Let us keep 
him with us a little longer, to warm our old hearts ; we might 
get rusty and cold, wife, with no boys to trouble us.” 

“ I have some idea he will not be the youngest long,” said 
Mrs. Beauvilliers, with a rising flush on her cheeks. 

“What now, Belle! more boys coming?” exclaimed the 
jovial father. “ That’s capital ! I never heard better news in 
my life ; what will Ned, Will, and Charlie say? Seven boys ! 
why, I shall outdo my father. I always thought there never 
was a woman in this world like you, Belle, and I think so to 
this minute. Odds me ! but I must write the news off, and 
invite them all to the christening.” 

“ No, no, my dear husband, have compassion on me ; remem- 
ber, 1 there is many a slip between the cup and the lip,’ and 
don’t get a christening dinner ready till you have a child to 
christen. Pray think how long it is since such an event occurred 
here, and that I am very nearly as much surprised as you are.” 

Mrs. Beauvilliers was a clever, talented woman ; she had just 
the sort of calm, excellent good sense, which it was desirable to 
graft on the stock of the kind-hearted, though somewhat heed- 
less, Beauvillians. Throughout the whole clan she reigned pre- 
eminent in worth and talents, and received a sort of feudal 
adoration from the sdniple-haarted race. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


27 


Mr. Beauvilliers could not forbear letting out the secret of 
his expected blessing, to all his brothers, each in strict confi- 
dence ; and, therefore, they were all prepared with rounds of 
congratulations and hearty good wishes on the happy advent. 

But all the five uncles, all the six little expectant brothers, all 
the cousins, nephews, kinsmen of every degree, were thrown 
into a state of profound amazement. 

The expected seventh boy proved a little, small girl ! 

As soon as they had recovered from the astounding fact, 
a regular commotion ensued among the clan of Beauvilliers. 
No two remained long in the same place ; they hunted each 
other up far and near, merely to shake hands, and say, “¥e 
have got a girl ! ” 

The fine old family mansion of Beau-court, where the won- 
derful event occurred, was besieged with every Beauvilliers that 
had ever been heard of : only to see the happy father, shake 
hands, and mutually say, “We have got a girl ! ” 

At the christening (the like of which never had been seen 
before), the girl was handed round, as Newman Noggs hath it, 
u as if it were something to eat.” Perhaps a pervading feeling 
of disappointment might have gone through the company, on 
perceiving that the baby girl was not at all unlike what some of 
the baby boys had been. u But smaller, O, yes ! decidedly 
smaller,” as some said, with confident satisfaction. Upon the 
whole, the affair went off admirably. When the girl was handed 
from one to another, it gazed from face to face with wise little 
eyes, which made everybody declare that the girl was the most 
sensible child that had ever been born. 

When the holy water was dashed in its face, rather violently 
(as it was then beginning to be thought the proper thing to do), 
the girl neither started nor winced, but opened her eyes, and 
fixed them with a sort of questioning wonder on the clergyman. 
WTiereupon everybody thought, “The girl is a true Beauvilliers, 
and does not know what fear is.” 

The amount of presents which it was esteemed necessary 
to bestow upon the girl, made her a little heiress on the 
spot. 

She might have set up a shop of corals and bells only ; she 
might have turned silversmith and dealt in silver mugs, tiny 
knives and forks, in red morocco and every other sort of case ; 
she might have opened an account with her bankers, and put 
out her money at interest ; she might have been smothered be- 
neath the weight of gold chains and coral necklaces. 


28 


MARGARET 


As for her nurse, she was looked upon as a peculiar person 
of the angel species, and came in for her share of presents, until 
she bent under the accumulation of gowns, shawls, and new 
guineas. 


CHAPTER VII. 

It became a sort of custom among the nearer relatives 
to make periodical journeys to Beau-court, to see how the girl 
was getting on ; and as no one ever came empty-handed, her 
possessions were becoming vast. 

As she grew older, the sort of notice and homage she received 
might have proved very injurious ; but she had one Beauvillian 
peculiarity, an adoration of her mother. 

Her word w T as law, her look a command ; and being so 
talented and clever, the little girl reaped all the benefit of such 
an affection. Mrs. Beauvilliers became aware that her daughter 
was of a very peculiar character ; and while she wondered how 
such a disposition would make its way in the world, she could 
not but admire the fearless, independent spirit. . the extreme 
truthfulness of her words and actions ; Lotty’s word might be 
relied on as certainly as the sun travels from east to west. 

Of course it must be allowed that her education was of a more 
manly description than befits a young lady. Each brother was 
anxious to impart some of his knowledge in the bold sports of 
the Beauvillians ; each uncle inquired diligently after her 
progress in riding, leaping, and jumping ; nevertheless they 
looked with reverence and delight upon all Mrs. Beauvilliers , 
feminine accomplishments ; and when Lotty, escorted by her six 
brothers, brought down, on her father’s birthday, a silk pocket- 
handkerchief hemmed by herself, the sensation it caused was 
wonderful. 

“ Here, papa, is my present ; I hemmed it myself ; mamma 
says it is pretty well done, and I have only been three weeks to- 
morrow doing it.” 

“Yes, papa, this is our Lotty’s hemming,” said one brother. 

“ Only three weeks to-morrow doing it,” continued another. 

“ Look well at it, papa,” exclaimed a third. 

“ Mamma says it’s well done,” said the fourth. 

“No, only pretty well ! ” said the matter-of-fact Lotty. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


29 


Papa looked at it with an admiration and delight that quite 
satisfied the six brothers ; then the handkerchief Avas put aAvay, 
but upon the arrival of any fresh Beauvilliers, it A\ T as brought 
out, shown, and admired, and that Beauvilliers Avent aAvay, and 
to the next Beauvilliers he met he told the neAvs. 

“ Our girl has hemmed a handkerchief in three Aveeks, all but 
a day, and it is pretty well done.” 

Whereupon that Beauvilliers went to see it, until the whole 
clan had been favored Avith a vieAv thereof. 

Much to the detriment of the beloved little girl, after a short 
illness, Mrs. Beau\ r illiers died, just when her daughter Avas of 
the age when she would most want her cares and attention. 

As she felt her end drawing near, she called for the little idol- 
ized being, now about tAvelve years old. Generally calm and 
self-possessed in a remarkable degree, Lotty Avas taken to her 
mother, convulsed with grief. 

“ Take me with you, mother ! take me with you ! ” she 
rather screamed out than said. But that soft, Ioav voice calmed 
her in a moment. 

“God sees fit to separate us, my child; murmur not, but 
rather strive to obey his will, that we may meet again. Noav, 
my Lotty, listen to your mother’s last Avords ; they need be but 
few to you, thank God : 4 Know your duty, and do it.’ ” 

“ I Avill try, mamma ; I promise.” 

“ Then that is enough ; and now remember, papa suffers 
a greater loss than you do. You must, instead of grieving, com- 
fort him. That is your present duty.” 

“ I Avill, mamma.” 

“ I shall wish you to go to school, Lotty.” 

“ O mamma ! ” 

“ I wish it, Lotty.” 

“ I shall go, mamma.” 

“You will not forget, my child, that you are a woman — a 
lady. As the men of the Beauvilliers’ race are strong and 
manly, so must the Avomen shoAv themselves gentle and femi- 
nine.” 

44 1 will try, mamma.” 

But the child’s heart A\ T as older in its affections, deeper and 
stronger in its love, than even her mother knew. 

A cold dew covered her, the room and the dying mother faded 
from her sight, her dark eyes, remarkable for their brilliant 
beauty, greAv dull, and closed. 

“ T die Avith mamma,” she thought, happily, kissing her pas- 
3 * 


30 


MARGARET 


sionately. The poor mother collected her remaining strength to 
fold the little senseless form in her fond embrace, and long be- 
fore the broken-hearted Lotty recovered from her swoon, her 
mother’s spirit was in heaven. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Six months after this event, Lotty and her father were out on 
their daily ride. 

It was the habit of the little girl on these occasions (though 
usually silent) to say, if she saw her father’s head drooping with 
sorrowful recollections, or the tears gathering in his eyes, “ Papa, 
do you think I can manage that hedge?” If he said, “Yes, 
Lotty,” the spirited little rider, with her faultless pony, got over 
it somehow. 

And in admiring his child’s courage and skill, poor Mr. Beau- 
villiers would rouse himself for a little while. 

When the head again drooped, again the little voice was heard, 
“ Papa, in that meadow we can have a good gallop, with the 
brook to jump at the bottom.” 

So papa and the fearless little daughter proceeded to perform 
the feat, to the entire satisfaction of both. 

It was thus that Lotty strove to remember her mother’s last 
words, and fulfil her present duty. But, on this particular day, 
her voice was low and trembling, and she said, seeing her father 
more cheerful than usual, — 

“ Papa, I am to go to school.” 

Poor, little, magnanimous Lotty ! School was to her, in imagi- 
nation, the fearful gaol that the thief sees always before him, or 
the distant, banished land which the convict would almost prefer 
death to beholding. 

“Ah ! my Lotty, are you tired of your fond father?” 

“ No ! ” said Lotty, with energy. 

So they trotted, side by side, for a mile or two, meeting now 
and then an admiring kinsman, who, briefly saluting the afflicted 
pair, would yet turn round and watch them with loving eyes, as 
long as they were in sight. 

“ Papa,” said Lotty, “ can I go to a school so near you that 1 
may ride over to see you every day ? ” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


31 


“ Ride, my pet ! I never yet heard of a school where they al- 
lowed a girl to keep her pony,” returned her father. 

Such an appalling fact sent the blood straight from Lotty’s face 
to her heart. That going to school should be a bar to riding, 
and cause a total separation between herself and those she most 
loved, well nigh overcame every restraint she had put upon her- 
self, almost breaking open all those hidden sluices of grief that 
she had so carefully concealed from her father. 

She was so absorbed that she did not perceive that her father 
was in nearly the same state as herself. 

Giving her little spirited pony a touch of the whip, he reared, 
plunged, and kicked, causing Mr. Beauvilliers such alarm lest 
he should unseat his rider, that Lotty saw the fit of grief had 
passed by. 

So she patted Midge on the neck, spoke to and coaxed him ; 
but the little indignant fellow was not to be soothed in that way, 
after such unmerited treatment, and gave his little mistress and 
her father ample trouble before they finished their ride. 

“ I cannot think why he behaved in this way,” said Mr. Beau- 
villiers, uneasily, scanning him over with his eyes. 

“ Papa, I touched him with the whip.” 

“ How came you to do that, my Lotty ; do you not know he 
will not bear it ? ” 

“Yes, papa, I did it on purpose, because — because you 
know I must go to school ” — and the little voice faltered. 

“ I know it, I know it, my child. Well, we will consult your 
uncles and brothers.” 

It is needless to say that all the Beauvilliers were consulted, 
and the matter ended in its being decided that Lotty should go 
to a school in Bath. 

All the Beauvilliers that had a right, from near relationship* 
went to see the school, the governess, Lotty’s future playmates, 
even her private individual bed. All the Beauvilliers that had 
not this privilege rode into Bath to look at the house outside. 

Being a very clever, sensible woman, Miss Elton was rather 
amused than annoyed at these proceedings, and was a prey to a 
vast amount of curiosity to see the object of so much affection. 

She imparted her feelings to Millicent Erie, her eldest pupil, 
and besought her kind aid to assist in reconciling, what she sup- 
posed would be, a spoiled darling to the trammels of school. 

In compassion to the aged and apparently heart-broken father, 
Miss Elton had agreed that every Saturday Lotty was to go to 
Beau-court, see her father, and return to school on Monday. 


32 


MARGARET 


“But how will she travel, sir? Beau-court must be twenty 
miles from here,” said Miss Elton. 

“ She will ride,” replied Mr. Beauvilliers. 

u Ride ! ” exclaimed Miss Elton, “ that child ! ” 

“ Yes,” returned Mr. Beauvilliers, “ she is used to it. I will 
send her pony and servant every Friday evening to the inn 
close by.” 

Miss Elton half repented accepting the charge of such a child, 
especially when, hearing the noise of a great cavalcade in the 
street, she looked out to see what was the matter, and with 
amazement beheld the equestrians stopping at her door. Ac- 
companied by four brothers and three uncles was Lotty, a little, 
diminutive girl, on a spirited black pony, that did not seem a 
whit the less wicked though it had come twenty miles. 

Her father had been too much overcome to bring her himself ; 
so, to keep up her spirits, a large concourse of affectionate Beau- 
villiers had assembled to escort her on her way. Before reaching 
Bath, they had thought it prudent and proper to suffer her to go 
through the town with only a limited number, which was fortu- 
nate for Miss Elton. She little knew that about a dozen more 
Beauvilliers were sorrowfully wending their way home, after 
taking leave of their girl. 

The four brothers and the three uncles were all kindly invited 
in. 

“No, we thank you heartily. If we do, we shall never be 
able to leave her, so take her out of our sight as soon as may be.” 

Passionately kissing Norman, her youngest and favorite 
brother, who had leaped down to take her off her pony, Lotty 
ran into the house and disappeared from the sight of the loving 
Beauvilliers. 

When they overtook the others, many -were the anxious ques- 
tions, “ How she looked?” “ What she said? ” and “ Did she 
bear the parting well?” They shook their heads mournfully at 
every fresh detail, and then they all disputed who was to lead 
Midge home. 

“ I, and I only,” said Norman, “ so catch us if you can.” 

And with an inspiriting view-halloo, away he went over hill 
and dale, and led the Beauvilliers such a chase, that they had 
no time for any dismals, but arrived at Beau-court in such ele- 
vated spirits, with so much to tell of the exciting gallop, that 
Mr, Beauvilliers was quite enlivened thereby. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


88 


CHAPTER IX. 

Miss Elton had amused herself iu picturing to her mind what 
> her new pupil would be like, and this was the ideal she formed. 

A ruddy-faced chubby girl of substantial form, and Beau- 
villian stature, sweet-tempered, or she would not be so loved ; 
somewhat spoiled or she would not have been spared to school. A 
trifle hoidenish, or the stress laid upon feminine associates would 
not have been so urgent. 

She saw before her a little fair girl, looking quite a child in 
her riding gear. As she removed her hat she displayed eyes 
that amazed Miss Elton with their size and brilliancy, and before 
she could recover her astonishment, the little thing gathered up 
her habit, and passing her fingers through her thick, short curls, 
she swept them otf her forehead, and approaching Miss Elton, 
said in a low, soft voice,. — 

“ Madam, you must try to love me, that you may teach me 
/ well, because I wish to return soon to my father.” 

“ I shall be certain to love you,” said Miss Elton, irresistibly, 
as it were. 

u I hope you will be certain, madam ; how soon do the 
quickest and cleverest girls leave school?” 

“ At seventeen, I think,” said Miss Elton, who saw at a 
glance how matter-of-fact her new pupil was. 

“ I shall try to learn everything you wish me by the time I 
am sixteen. May I begin now ? ” 

“ Yes, dear, but you must change your dress first. Your boxes 
came yesterday by the wagon, and everything is ready for you. 

u When I am dressed, madam, where shall I find you?” 

u I will send Millicent Erie for you.” 

“ Is she one of my school-fellows?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Will she be kind to me ? ” 

“ She is kind to every one.” 

“ Then, madam, I shall be ready to come down with her in 
half an hour.” 

u Will you have no one to help you? ” 

“ O, no, madam ; papa would be ashamed of his little girl if 
she could not do everything for herself.” 

Lotty lifted up her large eyes to Miss Elton’s face with a 


34 


MARGARET 


serious, searching look. She seemed satisfied with her scrutiny, 
and was turning away, when Miss Elton stooped down and 
kissed her. A smile came over the child’s face like a sunbeam. 

“ Thank you, madam,” she said, and retired. 

Miss Elton was charmed, and during the half-hour she had to 
wait for Lotty’s reappearance, was solely occupied in thinking of 
her. 

“ What intellect in that broad brow and intelligent eyes ! 
What firmness expressed in the mouth and chin ! She will be an 
extraordinary woman.” 

Millicent went for her at the time appointed ; and when she 
reappeared with the new pupil, about whom something won- 
derful had been promulgated, all eyes were turned upon her. 
Lotty’s little black frock set off her fair skin t<T great advantage. 
Her rebellious curls had been vehemently brushed into some 
order, but were breaking bounds all over her head, threatening 
to be in wild confusion shortly. Her figure was round and 
plump, as a child’s should be, without being fat ; her features 
were pretty and piquant, while her eyes were glorious. Alto- 
gether, Lotty’s appearance created a buzz of satisfaction and 
admiration. She walked straight up to Miss Elton, and in a 
confiding, childish way, leaned her head against her, to the 
manifest astonishment of sundry girls, who had an awe of Miss 
Elton, profound and deep, according to their various misdemean- 
ors. Miss Elton was surprised by the quickness of her new 
pupil : Lotty imbibed knowledge like the air she breathed. At 
five, after working hard, Miss Elton said, — 

“Now you must go and play, for it is wrong to work without 
relaxation.” 

For a moment Lotty looked troubled ; then obeying Miss 
Elton’s look, she took Millicent’s arm, and left the room with the 
other girls. 

She stood aloof from them all, watching in silent wonder their 
games, their bickerings, their altercations. 

One girl had fallen and cut herself, the others passed heedlessly 
on. At that moment a swift foot was heard ; a lovely rosy girl 
sprang forward and raised her with gentle words. “ Margaret ! 
Margaret ! ” was uttered joyfully by every one. “ Margaret ! 
dear Margaret ! ” 

“ How are you all?” said Margaret; “I am so glad to see 
you ! Look, this is for you, and you,” she continued, dispensing 
packets of sugar-plums. “And who are you?” she added, run- 
ning up to Lotty with such a sweet glowing face, that she was 
quite amazed. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


85 


“ I am Charlotte Beauvilliers.” 

u And I am Margaret Montagu ; and you must take this kiss, 
because I brought you no packet. I did not know you were here.” 

“ I like the kiss best,” said the truthful Lotty : “ will you love 
me?” 

“ Yes, dearly.” 

So thus began that famous friendship. 

In time, Lotty grew just what her mother meant school should 
make her — a happy, romping school-girl, full of life, health, 
and spirits. Her head and heart were not yet fitted for hard 
trials ; she would have done her duty, but probably sunk under 
tne weight of too much responsibility. 


CHAPTER X. 

But we have torgotten the bride and bridegroom. 

They enjoyed their tour very much. Margaret saw more of 
the world in that fortnight than she had done in her whole life, 
and Harold (who, to tell the truth, was a little bit blase) derived 
infinite amusement from her unsophisticated happiness and 
delight. There was something so new, fresh, and original to 
him in all she did, that he thought he never should be tired of 
such a companion. To be sure, she’was more girlish and simple 
than he had imagined, but that was all the more delightful, at 
least, so it seemed at present. 

In the mean time, a very different scene was acting at Mon- 
tagu House. Millicent and Lotty had accompanied Sir Thomas 
and Lady Montagu there after the marriage, to assist them in 
their preparations for receiving their darling Margaret as Lady 
Leigh. 

During the five years that they had ostensibly lived at Bath, 
they always came during the holidays, accompanied by such 
school friends as Margaret selected, to Montagu House. Milli- 
cent in particular, and Basil, who was asked to meet her, were 
frequent guests, even during their grandfather’s lifetime. For 
he was a just man, and however faulty his son-in-law might be, 
and however odious the wife he had taken to replace his daugh- 
ter, yet he would not suffer the children to bo wholly estranged 
from their father. 


MARGARET 


36 


Erlscourt was, however, no place for Millicent ; but at Mon- 
tagu House she could now and then see her father, and occasion- 
ally spend a day with him. 

Not that it could be any satisfaction to a gentle, intelligent 
mind like hers, to see how misrule reigned there, to say nothing 
worse. A tribe of rude, unm'annerly children, encouraged by 
Lady Erlscourt, and unrestrained by their father, subjected the 
half-brother and sister to many slights and indignities, to which 
less indulgent and kind natures would not have submitted. 

Both Basil and Millicent tried in their different ways to be on 
more affectionate terms with their father’s second family, and 
spared no means to counteract the evil influence of Lady Erls- 
court. And amply rewarded did they feel themselves, if in one 
or two they found symptoms of a better nature, and they will- 
ingly put up with their rudeness in the hope of benefiting them. 

Age and ill-doings had not improved either Lord or Lady Erls- 
court, since the time that Basil had run away, and by this means 
released himself and his little sister. 

He was more morose, irritable, and unsociable than ever. 

She had lost the beauty that had raised her to her present 
position, and was considerably changed for the worse in every 
respect. In one thing she remained unaltered ; her hatred to 
her step-children only gained strength with time. 

Basil stood in the way of her own son becoming Lord Erls- 
court, while Millicent’s beauty, grace, and dignified manners 
shone conspicuous to the detriment of her own. daughters. 

Nevertheless a semblance'of interest and affection was carried 
on, though most warmly kept up on the part of the step-children. 

Basil visited his father often, and was at his command on all 
occasions, for the life Lord Erlscourt led was beginning to tell 
upon him, and it was often necessary to have such an adviser as 
Basil at hand. Lady Erlscourt and her numerous low relatives 
were on the watch to take any advantage they could gain. This 
her husband knew ; and not so much out of love for his son, as 
to spite her, he did nothing without that son’s advice. 

The disinterested, liighly-principled conduct of Basil ought to 
have won him their best affections, that is, if they were worth 
having. But a nature like hers could not understand, and a 
heart like Lord Erlscourt ’s could not appreciate, such conduct. 

Millicent saw them twice a year, during the holidays, which 
she was purposely ‘asked to spend at Montagu House. Just be- 
fore her grandfather’s death, she had been engaged to be married 
to a dear friend of her brother’s, Gerald Herbert ; but after this 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


87 


death, as was intimated before, their trials began. Millicent’s 
marriage was peremptorily broken off, and she was again sent to 
school. Not that any objection could be made to the match, or 
to the object of Jier affections ; but it was simply the old spirit, 
that had so cruelly crushed her childhood’s happiness, again 
breaking forth, on finding her once more in its power. 

Basil, after enduring a series of conduct, disgusting from its 
mean vulgarity, and irritating from its excessive spite, had left 
the home he had wished to find with his father, and gone abroad. 

But to return to Sir Thomas and Lady Montagu. They have 
arrived at their destination. Old Sir Thomas finds himself bet- 
ter, warmer, more at home in his old velvet-covered chair, in the 
ancient library, with its blazing wood fire. 

Lady Montagu is busy up stairs. She is not looking to see 
that their own rooms are neat and well aired, and everything as 
it ought # to be : no, she is in the state bed-chamber, and she is 
already ordering fires to be lit, and the grand old embroidered 
satin coverlid to be brought out. 

In fact, though she does not expect her for a week, she is pre- 
paring for the coming of Lady Leigh. 

Lotty is at the window, partly thinking how glorious the trees 
look in their autumn beauty, and partly, whether her school-wife 
finds Harold as good a husband as she was. 

Lotty has grown a little, not much. The Beauvilliers say to 
each other, “ She is very young, we must not expect to see her 
very tall as yet.” 

Lotty lias never forgotten her mother’s words. Though she is 
such a wild, mad thing at times, with spirits that nothing seems 
to tame, she finds out what her duty is and does it. 

Millicent is in the conservatory. She hears her name whis- 
pered in a broken voice. She looks up. Can this be Basil? 

Weary, travel-stained, and pale as he appeared, that was 
nothing to the haggard wildness in his eyes, his restless, despair- 
ing look. 

“ Dearest brother ! ” said Millicent, springing to his side. 

“ Sister, my sister ! the only thing I have left to love ! ” said 
Basil, in hollow tones. 

“ Basil, speak not thus, I implore you. What has happened ? ” 

“Ah ! Millicent, did you not guess my secret? Could you nor 
have guarded my treasure for me ? God help me ! for vain i 
the help of man ; or take me to himself, for my burden is too 
great to bear.” 

The truth flashed on Millicent’s mind. 

4 


825 


MARGARET 


“ Basil, you were wrong not to tell me, to trust me. I con- 
ceived nothing of what I too plainly see now — alas ! alas ! too 
late ! ” 

“ I know it is too late. I hurried home on the receipt of your 
letter, telling me that the marriage was to take place. I hastened 
home, not, Milly, to serve myself, but that most lovely, innocent, 
gentle spirit. I know Sir Harold by report only ; but O ! Mil- 
licent, he is not the husband she should have. Generous and 
kindhearted I know he is ; but she is such a child, she has such 
a gentle, timid heart; if he does not find the way to it, if he 
speaks but an unkind word, he will crush it, break it. Ah ! 
Milly, Milly, did you not know that I loved Margaret more than 
my life ? that I only refrained from telling her so, because of her 
youth and innocence ? ” 

“ No, dearest Basil, no, I never guessed it. You have been 
so much together since she was the little gentle child <^f seven 
years old. I traced nothing but the love that had always passed 
between you. Besides, I Avas Avith Isabel at the seaside the last 
holidays.” 

“ True, most true,” murmured Basil. “To the lone for- 
est only did I Avhisper my hopes and Avishes. During 
the long, silent nights, under the arching boughs, with no 
spectator but the quiet, gentle moon, did I utter vows to 
make the happiness of that lovely being my one care and 
pleasure. O ! Margaret, Margaret, lost to me ! and still 
more lost am I ; thus dreaming, thus speaking, and thou the 
Avife of another.” 

Shocked to see that strong, nervous frame shaken like a timid 
child’s, still more shocked at the grief and despair Avhich seemed 
to have upset that high and noble heart, Millicent could but kiss 
the fevered broAv, and clasp the wringing hands. 

“ He Avill not understand her delicate, shrinking nature, appa- 
rently timid and Aveak, but strong in its purposes of love and un- 
selfishness ; and she is so young, but a child yet, to be moulded 
into the intelligent, just-thinking, high-principled woman. I knoAv 
her, ah ! so Avell. Let a check be given to the efforts her oavu 
heart will prompt her to make, and that heart will close, and 
preying upon itself, Avill break perhaps, and die, but never open 
again, to aught save love and confidence.” 

“ Basil, my brother,” murmured Millicent, in Ioav, soft tones, 
“ avc arc not to meet our mother but through much tribulation ; T 
pray God to give you strength to bear this burden. You have 
much to live for yet. Our house to redeem from perdition, oui 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 89 

people and lands to save from destruction. Think, Basil, for one 
moment, think what we should be without you.” 

u Give me time, sister, give me time. But you know me well 
enough to believe that I will not bear this shame upon my heart 
and live. Give me but time. I will now go to the keeper’s 
house in the forest ; I will take possession of my rooms there ; 
I will bury myself and my grief in the heart of the woods. Pray 
for me, Millicent ; pray that I may leave it there, and return to 
ou, blighted, indeed, but with a firm purpose to do my duty, as 
becomes a man and a Christian. I think, yes, sister, I half think, 
if I know that she is happy, I may die content.” 

He buried his face in his hands, and the strong manly frame 
shook with emotion. 

44 O, my Basil ! may I not come with you? may I not devote 
myself to you, and you only?” 

44 No, Milly, no ! I must be alone ; and I beseech you, sister, 
tell no one that you have seen me, or that I have returned to 
England. You shall hear from me constantly ; I shall write, 
yes, perhaps, daily. But give me time, Milly, give me time, 
and leave me alone to wrestle with my sorrow.” 

He folded her in his arms with a hasty but fond embrace, and 
was gone before she could utter one word to detaiu him. 

It was some time before 1 jould calm herself sufficiently to 
return to the library. ? r was still watching the various 
changes in the lovely lar i pe, as it lay sloping before the win- 
dows, bathed in glowir g ashine ; Sir Thomas was dozing, and 
Lady Montagu reading 

44 Come,” said Lotty, as Millicent entered, 44 and watch these 
rooks ; they seem bent upon some extraordinary quaint busi- 
ness.” 

As Millicent joined her, she continued, in a voice hardly to 
be heard at the other end of the room, 44 IIow is Basil?” 

44 What do you know about him?” said Milly, in amazement, 
f and evasively. 

44 1 mean, how did he bear it?” said Lotty. 

44 Bear what? Lotty, you are an enigma?” 

44 No, that I am not ; I am straightforward enough. Is poor 
Basil in great distress ? ” 

44 How did you know he was here ? ” 

44 1 did not know at all, but I had an idea he would come, and 
I see a man’s glove lying on the lawn. Now, it is not Sir 
Thomas’s ; gardeners do not generally wear gloves, so I con- 
cluded it to be Basil’s.” 


40 


MARGARET 


“ Lotty, Lotty, you are too quick for me to deceive you. 
Basil has indeed been here, that is, the ghost of Basil. Ah, my 
Lotty ! never did I see such a change.” 

“ Come, do not take on so ; I dare say he wished no one to 
know he is here, so let us go into the dear old forest, then you 
shall tell me everything, and cry at your leisure — it will do 
you good.” 

Milly looked with surprise at the little school-girl by her side, 
and when they were fairly out of the house, said, u Little 
Lotty, tell me how you know all these things that you seem 
to know?” 

“ Nobody told me, but I guessed. I am fifteen, and, Miss 
Elton says, quite learned enough to leave school next year. 
However, I love Margaret, and I love Basil ; I think he is a 
man, in the true sense of the word, fit to take upon himself the 
care of such a creature as Margaret. He is loving, yet manly ; 
gentle, yet firm ; good, yet forbearing. I like Basil very much, 
and if he had married Margaret, I would have been bridesmaid ; 
that is, I think I would, for I do not approve of marrying.” 

“ And why, little one, did you deem it necessary to have any 
ideas on the subject?” 

“ Why should I not? Did Flory and Carry think of aught 
else ? to say nothing of Augusta. They believed me to be a safe 
listener, ignorant and innocent, so I heard all, and drew my 
conclusions. If any man marries you he will do well. If 
Basil had married Margaret, they would have been happy ; now, 
she will not, without a great deal of sorrow first. If any one 
marries Flory, he will have a mischief-making, gossiping wife, 
and that is not good. If any body marries Carry, he might just 
as well have some old, fat, child-spoiling nurse for a wife, which 
is also not good. And if any fool marries Augusta, — but is 
there such a fool in the world? I think not. Lastly, if any one 
wants to marry me,” — here Lotty drew herself up, — u he will 
repent it. So you see, out of all of us, I deem only one fit to be 
married.” 

Lotty chatted on thus, to divert her companion’s mind. 

“ You are certainly very quick-witted, my Lotty,” said Mil- 
licent. 

“ About men, I am,” said Lotty ; u because I live with them 
so much. But all my brothers, and uncles, and cousins un- 
true Beauvillians — they all make good husbands ; and I wish, 
Milly, you would think of marrying Norman, instead of 
Gerald.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


41 


“ Well, do not look so indignant ! There now, that has done 
you good, getting in a rage ; no, rage I cannot call it, but get- 
ting put out with me. Now, come, pray tell me how is Basil?” 
. “ Heartbroken, Lotty.” 

“Not quite, I hope. Where has he hid himself?” I sup- 
pose at the old keeper’s cottage.” 

u Lotty, you are a little witch.” 

“ No, only sharp. But could you not imagine to yourself 
that, buried in the heart of the forest, with nothing but the 
grand old trunks of the trees, and the beautiful, spiritual tracery 
of the branches all around you, with a pale star gleaming here 
and there, like the pitying eye of an angel, you could there lay 
your sorrowful heart before the Almighty, and be sure that the 
pitying eyes would bear the bruised thing to heaven?” 

u My Lotty ! how unlike the wild Lotty you talk.” 

“But why should I not feel, especially for those I love? 
Basil will talk to his beloved forest, he will pour out his griefs 
in her lonely, dark bosom, and return to us with the light and 
the sun ; but he will never love any one but Margaret. And 
now, see the rooks are wheeling about, preparatory to a flight 
to their dormitories ; we must fly home, too, or we shall lose 
our dinners. You must not fret ; you cannot unmarry Mar- 
garet. I never approved of the marriage, mind ; let Basil sur- 
feit himself with grief, he will then begin to think of the dearest 
of sisters, and be comforted.” 

“ But, Lotty, you surprise me so ; but now you were the little 
wild school-girl, coming to me for advice on every occasion : our 
positions seem to me reversed.” 

“ That iy because your kind heart is so grieved and disturbed 
for Basil ; your usual judgment and sense are clouded. Now I, 
caring for nothing and nobody, think calmly and with reason.” 

“ Caring for nothing and nobody, Lotty?” 

“ Yes, since 1 have lost Margaret. But, howeveiy do not 
fear that our reversed positions will be permanent ; take your 
place again, be the loved, honored, adored Millicent, and 1 will 
be once more Charlotte Beauvilliers.” 

4 * 


42 


MABGABET 


CHAPTER XI. 

Margaret passed her father’s threshold like a sunbeam. 
Surely they had forgotten, even in that short time, that she was 
so lovely, fresh, and blooming ; or were her natural perfections 
doubled, as she stood by the side of her handsome, distinguished- 
looking husband, blushing and smiling under the glance of his 
beaming eyes? To herself she seemed doubled; another heart 
was hers, another life and existence bound with her life. Two- 
fold were her sources of pleasure and happiness ; she had yet to 
realize that twofold might be her sorrows. 

The partial dotage into which Sir Thomas had fallen, through 
grief at the loss of his daughter, and fear lest they had not done 
wisely by their Margaret, gave way before the delight of her 
presence, the sunny halo she diffused around her. Each night 
lie confided to the equally-pleased mother, u I think we did right 
to let our Margaret marry ; ” and each night she answered in 
return, “ God bless her sweet beaming face ; may wc die ere we 
see it changed ! ” 

Little Lotty was very unpleasant all this time, and so far 
from suffering Margaret to hold her former place in her time 
and affections, was continually to be seen in a biting, sarcastic, 
acrimonious mood, which had, among her school-fellows, gained 
her the name of u Bear.” 

At a certain hour every day she would mount her pony, and, 
in sulky silence, start off alone for the forest ; and though some 
secret signs might pass between her and Millicent, the Beauvil- 
lian blood was not in a mood to submit, to any questioning. 
That she rode some distance and at a good pace, might be judged 
from the state of her steed when she returned, but nothing more 
definite could be obtained of her doings. 

u Indeed, Lotty,” said Margaret, one day, u I think you are 
very unkind to me ; your holidays are nearly over, and perhaps 
when you are again at liberty I may not be here.” 

“ You will not miss me, I dare say ; you have Harold,” re- 
turned Lotty. 

“ But I shall miss you, my little school-husband ; and do you 
imagine, because I am married, that every other feeling is 
absorbed ? unkind little bear 1 ” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 43 

“When every other word you say is 4 Harold/ I do not know 
how Lotty is to be considered.” 

44 You know my first duty is to him, and all my first wishes 
should be ; nevertheless, there is no reason why we are to love 
each other less.” 

44 1 did not approve of the marriage from the first,” retorted 
Lotty ; 44 it is so absurd of girls to go and many when they do 
not quite know their own minds, and, at all events, have not lost 
all their girlisms, and become reasonable women.” 

44 1 do not know that you ever found me unreasonable, 
Lotty.” 

44 No ; I should be very glad for you if I thought you were 
likely to become unreasonable now and then, for I am sure it 
would do Ilarold^good.” 

44 How ? ” said the loyal young wife, her cheek flushing. 

44 Because he has been accustomed to have everything so 
much his own way, that he will become a victim to ennui , 
unless you give him a little trouble. If he had been wise 
enough to marry Augusta, he would have been in hot water 
all his life, and all the better for it.” 

Tears filled the soft eyes, so lately Lotty’s pride and delight. 

44 O Margaret ! Margaret ! don’t cry ! How can you care for 
what your wild Lotty says ? ” 

44 But I do care ; how can I help it? I know you only say 
what you feel.” 

44 Then, my Queen Margaret, remember what I say : it is not 
good to let a man see how much you love him, or how great his 
power is over you. If he has a mean mind, he will take advan- 
tage thereof ; if he has a generous, kind heart, like Harold’s, 
he will not think the better of you for always deferring to his 
opinion ; lie will forget to 4 give and take,’ 4 bear and forbear.’ 
Do not let him think that you are a lovesick school-girl. Hus- 
bands nowadays, and all days, 1 imagine, want some other 
qualities in their wives beside love, Margaret.” 

44 1 doubt I am nothiug better, Lotty. 1 feel great purposes 
within me, but they are all love, and nothing else.” 

44 Then all I can say is, Harold is very happy to have such 
love, and I hope it will do you both a great deal of good.” 

44 1 must say, I have been highly edified with this lecture 
on matrimony,” said Millicent, coming forward ; 44 and really 
wonder, do not you, Margaret, where little Lotty picks up her 
experience?” 

Lotty pouted- 


44 


MARGARET 


“ I shall be curious to see how she conducts herself when a 
wife, shall not you, Margaret?” continued Milly. 

“ I think she will be the best little wife in the world,” said 
Margaret, her kind heart feeling for Lotty’s discomposure. 

“ Have you the letter ready?” said the little Bear to Milli- 
cent, “ for it is time I should go.” 

u Where do you go, Lotty?” said Margaret. 

“ She is a messenger for me, dear Meg,” said Milly ; “ but 
I shall not send to-day, Lotty, dear, that you may be as much 
with Margaret as possible.” As she spoke, a carriage, evidently 
from Erlscourt, drove furiously up to the door. With the cer- 
tainty that it could only bo the bearer of some bad tidings, Mil- 
licent and her companions hastily left the room to learn the 
reason. 

Lord Erlscourt had met with some sad accident, such as pre- 
cluded, so Basil’s hasty letter said, any hopes of a favorable 
recovery. In fact, if she wished to see her father again, she 
must return to Erlscourt in the carriage sent for her. 

It needed no further persuasion 'to decide Millicent ; in a few 
minutes she was ready. Lotty obtained permission to accom- 
pany her ; it was well she had that faithful little comforter, for 
the scene at Erlscourt was much more trying and painful than 
any imagination of hers could picture. The ungodly, dying 
father, the selfish, upbraiding wife, the unruly, riotous children, 
all formed a scene so painful and disgusting, that nothing but 
the firm determination to do their duty supported the brother 
and sister. 

Basil besought Millicent to make no inquiries concerning the 
cause of the accident ; while she, in tenderness to him, refrained 
from thinking of aught else than assisting him. 

The surgeons had announced their inability to hold out any 
hopes of life, while the battered, bruised appearance of their 
patient, his squalid, soiled clothes, and bloated, sullen visage, 
too plainly showed that a drunken broil with people much be- 
neath him, had given a rascal’s death and felon’s end to a peer 
of the realm. And yet this was not so sad to see, as the rude, 
grasping determination with which his wife and her relatives 
crowded round the dying bed, with indecorous haste and greedi- 
ness, to get words, if not deeds, executed in their favor. In 
vain Millicent, seated by her father’s pillow, appalled by the 
tierce oaths and imprecations that fell from lips that ought to 
have been praying, besought them to leave him in peace. The 
words and threats they dare not bestow on him were showered 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


45 


on herself. Basil, seated on the other side bathing his father’s 
hot temples, said nothing ; he knew that to speak would be to 
raise the storm still higher. The dying father looked at his 
eldest son and daughter ; the pitying eyes of each were fixed on 
him with unmistakable love and devotion ; their fair hair, so 
silky and wavy, so like their mother’s, gave them the appearance 
of angels amid the group of dark, lowering faces. He feebly 
waved his hand to enforce silence, and in a distinct, clear voice, 
said, — 

“ I leave everything of which I die possessed to my son 
Basil.” 

The head drooped, the jaw fell — Lord Erlscourt was dead ! 


CHAPTER XII. 

Some months passed away. 

Sir Harold and Lady Leigh had departed for Court Leigh, 
leaving the kind and loving old parents happy in the society 
of a daughter-in-law and two fine grandchildren, and still more 
happy in the prospect of seeing their Margaret again at Christ- 
mas. 

Lotty was once more at school ; ' she had neither eyes nor ears 
for anything but good hard study. Miss Elton half repented the 
concession she had made, that she should leave school at six- 
teen ; one more year there, and Lotty would have all the learn- 
ing Miss Elton was capable of imparting, at her fingers’ ends. 
Already she was much above every girl in the school. No 
study tired her, no intricacies puzzled her. But Lotty had 
ceased to be the merry school-girl ; Augusta had left school, 
and it was reported she was going to be married to a rich 
London banker, an M. P. ; but time went on, still neither cake 
nor wedding favors arrived. 

Carry and Flory are both to leave school next half, being two 
very pretty, ignorant, conceited, happy school-girls. Millicent 
is with her brother deep in the forest, dwelling together in the 
old Forest House. But she is happy ; sometimes alone with 
Basil, sometimes accompanied in her walks and rides by a fit- 
ting mate for such beauty and gentleness as hers. 

She is to be married in the spring ; that was Basil’s first act 
and deed, as was fitting it sliojik! hi" Am! Basil himself.? 


46 


MARGARET 


In those dark-blue eyes there is a shadow, the beautiful head 
with its clustering curls of fair lin.ir droops, the line athletic 
frame falters, but only when alone. 

As his father died with those words upon his lips that left 
Basil heir to everything, there also fell a conviction upon his 
mind that he was responsible for everything. 

Assuming at once the position he meant to keep, which, 
spite his youth and inexperience, all could see he would keep, 
Basil dismissed peremptorily, forever, the rude and riotous 
companions his father had so unfortunately encouraged ; leav- 
ing all unnoticed the gibes and sneers that followed all his 
actions, the taunts that were showered on him, because his 
father’s funeral was performed with the utmost privacy and 
quietness. It needed but little time to show, that the young 
Lord Erlscourt knew what he ought to do, and did it. Per- 
haps the hardest duty he had to perform was with Lady Erls- 
court. But she, in her turn, discovered that vituperativo 
threats, beseechings, and entreaties, were alike unavailing with 
the present head of the house. Besides, her best policy was to 
be friends, for otherwise she and her children were beggars. 
The old lord, wicked as he had been, knew the value of a 
character like Basil’s, and felt that lie left his wife and second 
family in the safest hands, when he left them in his son’s. 

As soon as Basil found that Lady Erlscourt could be reason- 
able, lie, with the delicacy of a good and great mind, opened his 
plans to her, as if for consultation between them. And she 
found that although she had only the semblance of a choice, yet 
she could not but feel that she little deserved the good fortune 
her step-son was preparing for her. 

It was absolutely necessary for the well-being of the estate 
that Erlscourt should be cleared of its late inhabitants. Basil 
felt that no efforts of his could remove the base influence of the 
late reign, so long as one of the old domestics was allowed to 
remain. 

Lady Erlscourt would have remonstrated, had she dared, 
on Basil’s determination to shut the castle up for a term of 
years ; but he allowed her so handsome a sum to hire a house 
in London, Bath, or any other town, that she could say nothing ; 
further sums were given her, but all at Basil’s free command, 
upon her fulfilling certain conditions regarding her children. 
The two eldest girls were to be sent to school ; he undertook 
the expense of educating the boys himself ; . this arrangement 
would leave her a little girl to be a companion at home. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


47 


In every thing to secure the respectability of nis naif brothers 
and sisters, Basil acted with the wisdom of an older head, and 
the generosity of a noble mind. 

He fitted up the old Forest House, and having cared for them 
all, and established them all as he wished, he waited but the end 
of their mourning to make the patient Millicent happy, happy in 
the love and confidence of a heart most worthy of her : to give 
her such happiness as was never to be his. 

True, he had many duties before him, and he would taste the 
rare happiness of doing good, and reaping the fruits thereof. 
He had the hard, and yet most pleasing, duty of improving his 
estates, reforming his tenantry, repairing the rack and ruin of 
the last reign, and was young enough to feel assured that, in 
all probability, he would see the benefits of his labors. Was 
there no pleasure in these prospects, in these hopes? There 
was. 

Basil again said to himself, — 

“ If I only know that the gentle angel who so early crossed 
my path of life is happy, I shall live content.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Court Leigh was a very fine old place : quaint and curious 
were its angles, courts, and turrets, with casement windows of 
all sizes and shapes, scarcely two alike. Myrtle trees crept up 
to the higher windows, cut and trimmed with such old-fashioned 
precision, that the eyes lingered lovingly on a wild creeping rose, 
which sent its thousand clusters of scented blossoms in every 
direction. Down by the lower windows it grew with the grave 
decorum that seemed to pervade the place ; but up out of reach, it 
threw its graceful branches in wild confusion over the staid 
myrtles, peeping out here and there, when least expected, every 
bright blossom laughing, as in sport, that no pruning knife could 
reach them. 

The stately pleasaunce of olden time was' not wanting, leading 
to an avenue of walnut trees ; this was again crossed by one of 
elms, and further in the distance was a double avenue of gnarled 
old oaks ; magnificent trees, many centuries old, leading the 
imagination to wonder if they ever could have been young, ten- 
der saplings, so old, so gray, so venerable did they appear. 




MARGARET 


Near the house was a stately parterre of flowers, with clipped 
yew trees at regular 'distances, and little summer-houses at each 
corner. 

Not a dead leaf to be seen, not a twig displaced, not a branch 
out of order. Lovely as the old house looked in the evening 
sunset, yet said Margaret to herself, “ Wliat a formal old 
garden ! ” 

Lady Katherine Leigh, with the gentle and quiet Pru. and 
Pro., were there to greet the newly-married pair, and while the 
bride felt that nothing could be meant more kindly, the formality 
of her reception matched the garden. 

Between a small lane of servants, Lady Katherine advanced, 
and restraining, by her solemn manner, Margaret’s gentle 
impulse of affection, made a sort of oration over her, which 
visibly affected Pru. and Pro. and some of the stately maidens, 
while Harold inwardly chafed, and suppressed tittering might 
have been heard from among the younger servants. She was 
about to perform the same ceremony over her son ; but taking 
his mother’s arm in his, he led her into the drawing-room 
before she had time to say a word. 

“ My son, my dear son ! on such an occasion it was proper 
I should say a few words.’'’ 

“ Dearest mother, I am so fatigued,” said Harold, throwing 
himself listlessly on the sofa. 

“ A few words, my dear son, were expected of me ; I had 
prepared them.” 

“ I kiss your hands, dear mother, and ask for permission to 
have some soda water.” 

Lady Katherine was not to be put down in this way ; Harold 
had his soda water, shared half with his dear Meg, drew her on 
to the sofa by his side, and then felt he might listen patiently. 

So he had it all two or three times over, with the action in- 
tended for each point ; and while he might weary at his mother’s 
prolixity, he felt thankful this scene, copied from some act of the 
blessed Queen Charlotte’s, was enacted before so small an 
audience. Three out of the four certainly listening with devout 
and reverent attention, not to say admiration. 

Lady Katherine was a very kind-hearted, good woman, but 
not by any means a sensible one. 

Let an idea once gain entrance into her brain, it remained 
there stereotyped; no accidental circumstance, no change of 
events altered that idea ; it became fixed in her miud in the 
original state in which it entered. She had married late in life 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


49 


Iierself, indeed she was nearly forty before that event took place, 
consequently she had not undergone the ordeal of a new life, or 
a new change of ideas, when the mind was young and plastic ; 
she had therefore no idea of change — variety was inconceivable. 
Whether her opinions and habits agreed with old Sir Harold 
Leigh’s, might have been questioned had they lived long to- 
gether ; but having ample reason to be satisfied with the discre- 
tion and care with which she ruled his house, the stateliness with 
which she presided at the head of his table, and the excellence 
of her cuisine , he managed to live very happily for eight year* 
with a woman who was certainly intended by education, if not 
by nature, for an old maid, rather than a wife and mother. 

On becoming a widow, Lady Katherine assumed an extra 
portion of reserve and state. Everything was conducted after 
the manner of a small court; whereof Lady Katherine was 
Queen, the pretty little erect ladies, Georgina and Charlotte, were 
princesses, and a rosy, curly-pated, baby boy, the heir-apparent. 

Under this stiff but kind rule, formal but gentle sway, no 
wonder Georgina and Charlotte changed into Prudence and 
Propriety. 

Harold of course went to school, from school to college, from 
college into the army, ever bearing a deferential and dutiful feel- 
ing towards his mother, while each change of scene and place 
the more -unfitted him for the sombre pleasures of his home. 

It never entered Lady Katherine’s head that a young man 
ought to have something to do ; she could not expect the fine, 
handsome, lively boy to sit down, knit or knot, play quadrille or 
cribbage, evening after evening, from week to week, year to 
year, as the dutiful and patient Georgina and Charlotte did. 
But still she could not suffer such an act as that he should go 
shooting with keepers, bunting with farmers, fishing with 
strangers. She suffered prodigious anxieties, trying to think of 
some employment for him, having some faint remembrances of 
idle hands and Satan’s mischief, which tormented her, without 
her being able to discover why it did so. She ransacked the old 
library for proper, and at the same time reasonably entertain- 
ing books* for him ; she even learned backgammon to please 
him ; though Pru. and Pro. were sent to the other end of the 
room when they played, that their innocent minds might not 
even know the look of dice. Nevertheless Harold’s holidays 
always cost her a fit of illness, and the termination of them was 
generally highly agreeable to all parties, though they loved each 
ether warmly. 


5 


50 


MARGARET 


As Harold grew older, he would have liked to employ th& 
many hours he spent over idle stories, novels, or travels, or that 
he lounged away with his dogs, or slept, or ate away., in riding 
over his estates, and becoming acquainted with his tenantry. 

But that was quite forbidden, was considered about the last 
thing he ought to do ; in fact, everything regarding business, 
all the duties and obligations of landlord and tenant, were care- 
fully kept from him, not from any other feeling than that Lady 
Katherine had been taught to consider there was an insuperable 
bar between the rich and the poor. 

They had an agent or steward — he was the proper person to 
manage such things ; but for Sir Harold to know that he had 
tenauts who had wants, or for them to know' that they had a 
landlord who would himself attend to such Avants, Avas deemed 
by Lady Katherine a thing unknown, unheard of. 

So from his childhood Harold had many idle, weary, listless 
days, wherein he had nothing to do, nothing in which to be 
interested. 

This had imparted to his character a sort of indolent independ- 
ence of anything not peculiarly interesting ; torpor of mind 
would accompany torpor of body ; and though on occasion he 
could readily throw off both, and appear the frank, generous, in- 
telligent fellow he really was, yet he as readily gave way to the 
dolce far niente , and was at the time of his marriage as useless 
and uninteresting a member of society as a rich young baronet 
could be allowed to be. 

Nevertheless he was the cynosure of the loveliest, softest eyes, 
the loadstone of the warmest, gentlest heart this erring world 
can give. 

Though no one was present save themselves, Lady Katherine 
had deemed it proper to have a grand banquet prepared ; all Jhe 
rich old family plate, all the rare old china, and drapery marvel- 
lous for age, beauty, and fineness of texture, were displayed. 

But Margaret was thinking so much of Harold, so far from 
her at the bottom of the great table, yawning and looking vexed, 
that she noticed but little of all this grandeur. They Avent through 
the long, stately dinner in a dignified manner certainly ; Lady 
Katherine prosed to her heart’s content ; Pru. and Pro. feebly 
chirped, now and then, little staid sentences ; Harold Avas almost 
silent, and Margaret was fast catching the chirping tone, in her 
efforts to comport herself to Lady Katherine’s satisfaction. 

When at last the Aveary dinner was over, and the ser\ r ants 
Avere Avithdrawn, Harold jumped upAvith some degree of energy. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


51 


and protesting he would be banished no longer, seated himself in 
the old-fashioned window, where Margaret, with joyful alacrity, 
joined him. She looked very much inclined to seat herself upon 
a loved knee that looked an invitation most indisputably ; but 
awe of Lady Katherine prevented that indecorum ; still one 
little white hand did nestle coaxingly in the luxuriant hair, so 
dark, so rich. 

44 My dear,” said Lady Katherine, 44 pray do not ; remember 
there are young people in the room ; I cannot permit Georgina 
and Charlotte to witness such ” 

44 Dear mother, may not my wife pull about my locks?” said 
Harold. 

44 Certainly not, I never heard of such a thing ; should any 
servant have occasion to enter, pray, my dear son, what would 
they think ? ” 

44 Servants have no business to think, mother,” said Harold, 
yawning. 

44 Shall we go out, Harold ? ” whispered Margaret. 

44 Yes, by Jove we will ! any place is better than this banquet- 
scented room.” 

44 Pray, my dear son and daughter, be seated. I have much 
to say to you, Harold ; as a mother, it is my duty to give you 
some advice on your conduct as a married man, and the head of 
your family.” 

Harold sat down without a word certainly, but with an ex- 
pression in his face Margaret had never seen before. 

Lady Katherine recapitulated her speech before dinner, with 
sundry other remarks, which altogether drew the discourse into 
such a length that Harold was convicted of a snore in one of the 
most interesting parts. Apologizing in sincerity for his rudeness, 
Harold declared he must go out, for the journey, and the length 
of the dinner, had fatigued him in a great degree. He disap- 
peared in such a hurry that Margaret had not even time to ob- 
tain a glance. She was* too timid to dare to think of accompany- 
ing him, so she followed the stately and rather offended old lady 
into the great drawing-room, with an air as meek and obedient 
as her two daughters. 

There they sat for two long hours, doing nothing but listen to 
the old lady’s numerous and rather confused stories of her court 
life ; — while Margaret heard the step she loved best in the 
world, pacing up and down before the windows, smelt the faintest 
scent of a cigar, and heard the low humming of a voice that was 
music to her. 


52 


MARGARET 


Yet she felt it very wrong and treacherous of her to feel tired, 
weary, and forlorn, and not even the admiring glances and timid 
whispers of affection from her new sisters could make up for the 
hearing that measured tread. With tea came the truant, much 
refreshed, and very eloquent in his praise of the beauty of the 
night. 

Then remarking the pale looks of his wife, he recommended 
her to go to bed, whither the kind Pru. conducted her, and the 
more active Pro. ran on before, to see all was as it should be. 

In the warm, simple affection they gave her, Margaret did 
not take further notice of their childish pleasure and girlish 
questions, than to imagine that they were adapting their manners 
to her school-girl habits ; and she loved them all the more for 
their goodness to her. 

Lady Katherine had sense enough to know, and good-nature 
enough to declare, that she and the young Lady Leigh must not 
reign together. She only intended to remain with them a short 
time, to give them the advantage of her wisdom and counsels, to 
start on their matrimonial career with dignity and propriety. 

A house within the park had been prepared for her and her 
daughters, so near, that at any time her valuable advice could be 
had for the asking : so Margaret, with the sweet earnestness 
natural to her, and the modest appreciation of her own merits, 
set herself seriously to work, to imbibe as much courtly wisdom 
as she could ; thinking, in the innocence of her girlish heart, that 
she was making herself more fit to be the wife of Harold. He 
was not at first aware that a curb was placed upon the happy flow 
of spirits, so delightful in his eyes, but rather imputed the change 
from her girlish gayety to embarrassment and fatigue consequent 
on her new position. So no wonder Court Leigh seeiiied to him 
still the dullest, most weary place in the world. 

44 I should like,” said Margaret, one day, as they paced slowly 
among the formal old flower-beds, u to make a really pretty gar- 
den here. These beds look very stiff from the windows, and 
there are no flowers, either sweet or new, in them.” 

44 I think, little wife, that is a very good notion ; the country 
is such a bore, and this is such a dull old hole, I shall be glad of 
something to do.” 

44 O ! Harold, do not call our home dull ! ” 

44 But it is, Margaret ; I have nothing to do here.” 

Margaret was too young and ignorant to know r why or 
wherefore this was the fact, but said, — 

44 You shall make the plan of a garden, and so will I, and 
our sisters shall judge between us.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


53 


“ Make a garden, dear Margaret,” said Pru. 

“You and Harold make a garden ! ” echoed Pro. 

“ No, not ourselves, but draw the plan of one,” said Margaret. 

“ O ! draw a plan,” said Pru. 

“ Of a garden?” said Pro. 

“ Yes, quite right, and you shall judge which is best, my 
plan or Harold’s.” 

“ But we- do not understand plans, dear Margaret,” said Pru. 

“ No, we never studied plans, dear Margaret,” said Pro. 

They had peculiar drawling, but still sweet voices ; and as 
they echoed each other, Margaret could hardly resist laughing, 
while Harold said in mimic tones, “ I hope you will teach them 
plans, dear Margaret.” 

The two gentle sisters blushed at their brother’s mockery, but 
a horseman appeared on the lawn, which prevented further con- 
verse on their part ; for, like well-bred, obedient girls, they flut- 
tered away through the open window, to place themselves under 
the care and surveillance of their mother, although Harold 
exclaimed, “ It is Philip ! ” 

Philip was a man, though a cousin, and a young man too, that 
is about their own age, very handsome also : so, though a near 
relative, they did not appear again but in the company of their 
stately mother. 

Margaret had time to notice the new arrival, and to learn his 
relationship to her ere he dismounted. Save her own Harold, 
and perhaps Basil Erie, he was the handsomest man she had 
ever seen. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Philip Leigh was Harold’s first cousin ; he had a small 
estate and a beautiful house, called High Leigh, in the very cen- 
tre of Harold’s property. He was some years older than Harold, 
and as his uncle, the last baronet, had married very late in life, 
for some time Philip had been considered heir-presumptive. Even 
after his uncle’s marriage with Lady Katherine, two little girls 
were born succeeding each other quickly, but for five years no 
other children followed. It was therefore most natural that 
Philip’s father and mother should look upon their son as the 
future baronet, and bring him up accordingly. 


H 


MARGARET 


Philip was beginning fully to appreciate the idea of being Sir 
Philip, and to speculate upon Court Leigh being so much more 
desirable to live in than High Leigh, when Harold unexpectedly 
made his appearance nearly six years after his youngest sister, 
And not above four months before his father’s death. 

Philip never forgave Harold this disappointment. 

Though handsome, clever, witty, sensible, and moderately 
nch, Philip lived in the world honored and esteemed, yet nourish- 
i. g in his heart a foolish, mean feeling of envy, which only 
wanted a little encouragement to break out into malice. 

Sufficiently talented to succeed in whatsoever he undertook ; 
handsome enough to gain admiration wherever he w ent ; mode- 
rate in regard to luxury and wealth, so as to feel perfectly satis- 
fied with the fortune he possessed, yet Philip counted none of 
these things of any value or pleasure to him, simply because he 
■was not Sir Philip. 

It was strange that so childish and foolish a notion should have 
taken such deep root in a naturally strong and vigorous intellect. 
But so it w'as : every one is supposed to be w eak on one subject, 
and that was his, little as any of his intimate friends or admirers 
thought so. He was unmarried, not through want of any oppor- 
tunities of being so ; for his handsome mouth would curl w ith 
rather supercilious pride when questioned on the subject, and he 
was w'ont to turn such conversation from the point with a half 
laugh of scorn, that his hearers granted Philip Leigh might use 
with impunity. 

There was not a young lady in his county who would not have 
been proud to call Philip Leigh husband, and he knew it, from 
poor little Pru. and Pro., upwards and downwards. No, he dwelt 
alone ; there he could brood over his one disappointment, and 
rate and rail away in solitude at a freak of fortune, neither he 
nor any other man living could remedy. It may be imagined, 
therefore, he came with no very friendly feelings to greet 
Harold’s wnfe ; that Harold, who became Sir Harold at four 
months old, and who grew and throve in a manner surpassing 
most babies, and was therefore the more to be disliked and 
envied. 

Who caught measles, hooping cough, and scarlet fever with 
wmnderful celerity, and threw them all off as quickly as he 
caught them. 

Who never got a bad fall, though riding by stealth, for fear of 
his stately mother, all the most vicious and unbroken horses in 
the neighborhood. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


55 


Who never was shot, or shot any one, or accidentally blew out 
his own brains, though, for the above-mentioned reason, he took 
every available opportunity, whether safe or unsafe, of acquiring 
knowledge in the art of gunnery. 

He grew up unscathed, unharmed, as fine, strong, and healthy 
a specimen of her Majesty’s subjects as might be seen in her do- 
minions ; and here he was with a wife, who would most likely 
put an effectual stop to Philip’s secret ambition. 

His quick, handsome eyes, looked thoughtfully on Lady Leigh, 
as she blushingly welcomed her Harold’s kinsman. “ Very 
pretty, but young and foolish,” he mentally said to himself. 

As he rode home after half an hour’s visit, he mused within 
himself, and thought thus, — 

“ Lady Leigh is very lovely, but she has married by six years 
too soon ; she i3 nothing but a school-girl still : if I mistake not, 
Harold will want something more than a merely pretty wife, to 
bind him to a home he has never loved. If in her present pliable 
girlhood she takes pattern by Lady Katherine they will not be 
happy long. Harold must have excitement of some sort, or he 
will be annoyed to an intolerable degree. Humph ! I think 
Lady Leigh has not wit to see that she should strike out a line of 
her own, and not copy Lady Katherine. I think she already be- 
gins to speak like Pru. and Pro., and Harold will never stand 
such peaking and puling. However, far be it from me to inter- 
fere : if he would marry a school- girl who ought still to be in her 
pinafore instead of wedding gear, it is no business of mine. Yet 
there is a look in her eyes, a wonderful look, — I suppose it is 
love, — pure, deep, earnest love, such a love as lives but once in 
the human heart, and leaves it but with death. Will such a love 
conquer the monotony and every-day trials of married life? Will 
it prove of sufficient depth, fervor, and strength to bind Harold 
to an existence, place, and people he has hitherto always dis- 
liked and fled from? In an older heart it might perhaps ; but I 
do not think under that simple girlish manner such devotion will 
be deemed to dwell. I wonder how I should feel with a wife’s 
eyes looking at me as hers did at Harold? I fancy I should like 
it ; I have now nothing left me but to marry. But whom? Not 
a single woman that I know could I tolerate for a month, not 
even Harold’s pretty bride, with her fathomless love eyes. 

“ I have lost the excitement of wondering if Harold would 
marry ; now T my fate is decided ; I feel that unless I get up 
some irritation, some object about which to interest myself, I 
shall sink into the hereditary malady of the Leighs, and hcoome 


56 


MARGARET 


a hypochondriac. Marriage is hateful to me — every woman to 
be had for the asking ; so that unless I may act Bluebeard, and 
marry a new wife when I am tired of the old one, — ‘ I’ll none 
on’t.’ I think I will amuse myself, by making mischief between 
Harold and his wife. I’ll not go' too far, but just see if my 
judgment is at fault concerning their future career. If he would 
marry a raw, innocent school-girl, it is surely no fault of mine.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

So Philip became a constant visitor at Court Leigh, and was 
quite aware that he was a most welcome guest. His easy, quiet 
flow of amusing conversation, his pertinent and sensible remarks, 
were each in their turn admired by the whole household. 

“ Philip puts me much in mind of his gracious Majesty,” said 
Lady Katherine, who meant George the Third, and had not been 
able to realize the existence of any other sovereign ; “ his re- 
marks are so sensible, without being verbose.” 

“ My cousin Philip is very sensible,” chirped Pru. 

“ I think our cousin Philip is sensible,” echoed Pro. 

“Philip is a good-hearted, downright amusing fellow,” said 
Harold. 

“ I am always so glad to see Philip,” said the softest, sweetest 
voice possible, “ he amuses Harold so much.” 

Philip knew as well as Harold that great discontent and much 
distress reigned throughout the whole estate of Court Leigh. 

The old Sir Harold had never interested himself about it ; and 
more from ignorance than unkindness, Lady Katherine had de- 
clined interfering between the. tenantry, and the steward ; and, as 
we have seen, brought up Harold in the same ignorance. 

The little that he did know only made him take refuge in the 
old proverb, “ Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” 
With his natural predisposition to indolence, fostered by educa- 
tion, he had imbibed a sort ot horror of every soFt of business ; 
therefore everything was left in the hands of his steward, who, 
while doing the best he could, was obliged to sacrifice some per- 
son at times to meet exigencies ; as that never could be the heir, 
of course all grievances fell on the tenants. Dilapidated build- 
ings, tumble-down cottages, gateless fields, broken-down hedges. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


57 


marked the property of Court Leigh in every direction. But 
Harold was not induced by the sight to put them to rights, for he 
did not even know they were his ; also he might, had he not been 
too indolent to notice it, have been struck with the difference be- 
tween his cousin’s small estate and his own. Philip had not a 
bad heart, but he had suffered the little speck of envy to spread 
and corrode it ; also, he was not religious ; like many men of 
vigorous intellect and -strong mental powers, he was apt to make 
those powers his God. Save that he was not Sir Philip, the 
head of the family, what was there that he was not? In his 
own eyes none were equal to Philip Leigh, with none could he 
compare himself. Yet this one black spot of envy was making 
him a mean man, and leading him on to do things for which he 
would be condemned and despised by every right-minded, 
honorable man. 

A little encouragement about this time, from one esteemed as 
he was, would have made Harold exert himself ; and, once he 
began to interest himself in his affairs, it was not difficult to im- 
agine he might become an efficient country gentleman. 

But Philip took a contrary course. 

For want of some better amusement Harold, with no love for 
it, was apt to linger over the wine, more to escape his mother’s 
prosy court stories and lectures than anything else : Philip 
encouraged him in this. In their many conversations and 
mutual confidences, the warm-hearted, frank Harold would dilate 
upon the simple beauty of his wife’s character. Philip chimed 
in with a sort of compassionate, supercilious air. that gave one 
the notion they were talking of some young and timid pet, and 
left on Harold’s mind the impression that his wife was a mere 
child. And although Philip hated himself for this meanness, he 
was yet so led away by his master-passion, that he kept on in the 
same course. 

“ O Lady Leigh ! ” said die, one day, “ I am delighted to find 
you alone. In general you are so surrounded with delighted ad- 
mirers, that I am unable to get in a word.” 

“ Yes,” said Margaret, simply, “ my sisters are very kind to 
be so fond of me ; we get on so happily together.” 

“ Then you must not be surprised if I envy them,” said Philip ; 
“ I, who delight so much in the society of superior female minds, 
and have so seldom enjoyed it.” 

“Did you not, then, know Lady Katherine before?” said 
Margaret. 

“ Is she laughing at me, or a fool?” thought Philip. Then 

7 


58 


MARGARET 


aloud, “ O, yes ! But do you compare yourself to Lady Katb- 
eriue ? ” 

“ No, not at all,” said Margaret, laughing. “ I, a simple 
scliool-girl, O, no ! ” 

“But the loveliest of her sex,” said Philip, with hypocritical 
fervor ; saying to himself, “ She is so simple, she will swallow 
anything.” 

“So Harold says,” said Margaret, quite composedly, but with 
such naivete , Philip could see she cared not one straw for her 
beauty save as Harold prized it. 

“Would that I had been so fortunate as to see you before 
Harold did,” he continued, in a low voice. 

“Ah, yes!” said Margaret; “for then you would have 
told me of him, and I should have learned to love him ere 
I saw him.” 

Philip bit his lip, the corners of his haughty mouth curled 
with disdain, as Margaret continued, — 

“For I was very much afraid of him at first, and would 
neither speak to him or look at him, which was very foolish, 
was it not, Philip ? ” 

“ Yes ; but, pray tell me, do you love no one but Harold? ” 

“ O, yes ! What is this world to me but love ! I have ex- 
perienced no other feeling ! I know not unkindness, or ever 
heard a harsh word ; love surrounds me, and I can but give 
love in return.” 

“Will you give it me?” 

“ 0, yes, dear Philip ! ” said Margaret, holding out both her 
hands and taking his, her lovely face beaming with affection 
and brightness. “ How can I help loving you, Harold’s own 
cousin ? ” 

Foiled again, Philip Leigh ! What sort of character is she — 
can she be ? for such a one had never crossed his path before. 
Was she really so very innocent, so simple, so guileless? Did 
she really love Harold with such strange earnestness and devo- 
tion, that she could see nothing but through him? 

She was a woman after all — nothing but a tender, loving 
woman. There must be some soft spot in that gentle heart to 
which he, in his world-wise wisdom and pride of intellect, could 
surely find his w 7 ay. He had never been foiled by woman yet ; 
and that a school-girl should puzzle him was not to be endured. 
The Leigh lethargy disappeared under this new excitement ; we 
will leave him to pursue his way. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS* 


59 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Basil and Millicent were quietly living in their forest home ; 
he, schooling his heart to perform its allotted duties, through the 
long life that seemed his probable fate. The gayer, fairer, more 
delectable path being closed before him, he turned into the rug- 
ged, rough road of duty, and already, in the distance, discerned 
gems of beauty and brilliance opening their rays towards him, 
as if from heaven. 

Millicent was preparing for her marriage, and studying, 
among the wild forest children, to learn the duties of a cler- 
gyman’s wife. 

Gerald Herbert had been for some ye.ars in holy orders, but 
as yet having no living, he acted as curate in large, densely- 
populated, neglected towns. 

Conscientious, zealous, and indefatigable, he was one of the 
most promising specimens of the young clergymen who now, in 
these happy days, begin to abound in this still more happy land. 

Ilis beaming eyes, his energetic countenance, and firm, strong 
character, would have marked him in earlier ages as a willing 
and enthusiastic martyr. But, in these times, they give birth to 
the surmise, that, in the flush and excitemfent of youthful energy, 
lie might perhaps be led into extremes, which his matured judg- 
ment would deprecate. 

The marriage was to be very private, because the year of 
mourning for her father had not yet expired ; still Basil intended 
the ceremony to take place at Erlscourt : wishing to prove if his . 
earnest endeavors, his high principles, had conquered in the task 
he had given them to do. 

Sir Harold and Lady Leigh were among the first guests in- 
vited ; and while Margaret was glowing with delight at seeing 
them all again, Basil was nerving himself to receive in pure and 
noble courtesy in heart as in conduct, that woman as a guest 
whom he had hoped to welcome as his wife. 

But Margaret had two other reasons, besides her dear Milly’s 
promised happiness, for looking forward to this meeting with 
feelings only to be described as ecstatic. 

Her Harold, so like her Harold, had desired her to present, 
as a wedding-gift to the bridegroom elect, the living of Holm- 
leigh. It was worth five hundred pounds a-year, with a very 


60 


MARGARET 


pretty rectory-house, and above all, was only a mile from Court 
Leigh. Thus Margaret and Millicent might look forward to 
spending their closing years together, as they had done their 
opening ones. 

The other news could only be whispered ; and it was whis- 
pered in the sweet twilight, as they sat together the first even- 
ing that they met. Had there been light enough, Milly Avould 
have wondered at Margaret’s beauty, with the rosy bloom blush- 
ing bright, and the dark, soft eyes glancing with a pure radiance 
as she uttered her secret. 

“ I am to have a little Harold in the summer ; you will be 
near me, Milly, and will see that he is his father’s image.” 
Milly showed by her delight the due importance she attached to 
this secret. 

It may be deemed strange that Millicent did not urge Basil to 
seek any other guests save his present ones : but she judged of 
his heart by her own, and knew that he would not be calm 
and free from vain and foolish regrets, until he had thoroughly 
rooted from his heart any love for the wife of another, than 
what ought to find place there. 

The wound might smart under this mode of treatment, but its 
cure would be all the more effectual the more it was cauterized ; 
and to see her, be with her, her husband by her side, her love 
for another before him, would, she thought, be the last thing 
necessary. * 

She appeared before him more lovely than ever, more gentle 
and engaging than his former fondest expectations had deemed 
possible ; but the pure halo of a wife’s love surrounded her. 
He enshrined her in his heart as an angel, and vowing -her a 
brother’s love, with warm courtesy and generous hospitality, he 
set himself the task of welcoming Sjr Harold and Lady Leigh 
to Erlscourt, as honored and beloved guests. 

“ How came it, Queen Margaret,” said Sir Harold, “ that 
you never told me of Erlscourt and Erlscourt lord ? ” Harold 
had adopted Lotty’s term of endearment and devotion for Mar- 
garet, and she well became the title ; there was something so 
stately in her sweet simplicity, so queenlike in her modest air. 
This Harold said one night in conjugal conference. 

“ This is my first visit to Erlscourt,” said Margaret, nestling 
in her accustomed place. 

“ But Erlscourt is nothing without Basil, as you call him. 
How came you to be so intimate, sweet Meg?” 

His “sweet Meg” told him the whole story from beginning 
to end, winding up by saying, — 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


61 


“ You know, Harold, there is no one like Basil in the world, 
and we all know it so well, that I thought you did also.” 

u A pretty confession from a wife to her husband, Queen 
Margaret.” 

“In what way, Harold?” she answered. 

“ Did you not say, there was no one in the world like Basil? 
and am not I, your husband, deemed worthy a comparison ? ” 

“ O, no ! Harold, I compare you with another? You knew 
that could not be ; a wife does not compare her husband around, 
about, near her ; he is her husband, what more ? the rest of the 
world are nothing.” 

Harold kissed the earnest, beseeching eyes, half pleased with 
the devoted love she thus betrayed, and half amused at the 
seriousness with which she answered his bantering, though 
none knew better than he did what that answer would be. 

“ I am so sorry Harold, my little Lotty will not be at the 
wedding.” 

“ I am sorry too, for your sake, dear wife ; but I care not 
much for your little friend ; she does not seem to affect me, 
Margaret.” 

“ O, yes ! Harold, she does ; she is the dearest, truest- 
hearted little thing in the world.” 

“ She may be, for aught I know.” 

“ I want to ask heF to come and see me at Court Leigh ; may 
I, Harold?” 

“ Ask the whole school if you like, my Meg, governess and 
all.” 

Margaret laughed in girlish glee at this notion, and then said, 
“ So kind you are, my Harold.” 

“ But do not forget my mother’s lecture upon young ladies, 
with which she favored us three nights running ; if I mistake 
not, she passed^ some rather severe censures on your Lotty, and 
designated her an unmannerly hoiden, while Miss ‘Clare was her 
beau ideal of high breeding and gentlewomanliness. That’s a 
long word, but it is my mother’s favorite one, and which she 
uses as a text when she sermonizes Pru. and Pro. 

“ How funny you are to-night, Harold ; but though I cannot 
explain why, everybody at school loved Lotty, and very few 
cared for Augusta.” 

“ O ! that is easily accounted for — Augusta is very hand- 
some.” 

“ Dear Harold, how naughty of you, so unlike you, to say 
such a thing.” 


6 


62 


MARGARET 


“ It is rather sharp of me, I own, but I always feel very livvly 
and chatty when away from Court Leigh ; my spirits get tut 
better of my discretion. But ask all your school-fellows that 
you wish, sweet wife, for it will enliven that dull old place, and 
Pru. and Pro. want a little school-girl nonsense knocked into 
them.” 

“ I will ask my bridesmaids and Lotty, Harold ; thank you 
much, and you must ask Basil.” 

•* Very well, we will employ our time in getting up a love- 
match between him and one of the school-girls ; I shall like that, 
n will be something to do.” 

u I hope Lotty will be his choice,” laughed Margaret, entering 
into her husband’s mirth. 

“ No, no, none of them will have a chance with Augusta ; 
besides, being much the prettiest, she is much the best hand 
at flirting : your Lotty is a little bear.” 

u Ah ! that is what we called her at school ; she is sometimes 
cross, but so true and warm-hearted, and she might be so con- 
ceited and spoiled, for she is so idolized among her own people.” 

u However, I think none of them quite good enough for that 
glorious fellow, Basil, none but you, Margaret : now, how came 
you, Queen Meg, to miss falling in love with him? Confess now, 
and perhaps I will give you absolution if you tell the whole 
truth.” 

“ Indeed,” said Margaret, laughing and blushing, “ I have 
nothing to confess ; Basil and I were just like brother and 
sister.” 

“ To tell you the truth, my little wife, I think I just secured 
you in time; when you left school and had nothing to think 
about, and were in the habit of seeing that fine fellow constantly, 
I doubt not you would have tumbled ‘full fathom five’ in love 
with him.” 

“ No, no,” said Margaret ; u only you, Harold.” 

u I promise you I am pleased to think so, my Queen. I have 
taken a great fancy to our host ; I never saw a more 4 proper 
man : ’ with his coat thrown back from that broad, powerful 
chest, his black silk handkerchief knotted with such careless 
grace around his throat, his locks, bestowing themselves so 
picturesquely round his head, I was greatly struck with his 
appearance at first sight ; then, Meg, when he spoke, when his 
countenance lighted up, and he looked at me, with his wonder- 
ful deep blue eyes, and such a smile passed from the eyes down 
to the- mouth, like the sun breaking through a cloud, why tin , 
Margaret, I wondered you never fell in love with hini,” 


AKD HER BRIDESMAIDS* 


03 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The wedding day arrived. 

U nlike Margaret’s wedding, there was no crying, no dressing, 
no hurry, no train of bridesmaids, no glitter, no pomp. Her 
two half sisters, Sir Thomas and Lady Montagu, with some of 
Gerald’s relatives, formed the party. Caroline, Florence, Lotty, 
and Augusta had all been asked, but Caroline was going to be 
married herself to a bluff young country squire, and wanted Flor- 
ence’s able assistance ; Lotty was at school, and Augusta wrote 
to say, “ That though her heart would be with them, and she 
should regret to the end of her life, however long she might live, 
that she could not come ; yet the fact was, she begged it might 
be kept secret, she could not obtain leave of absence from a cer- 
tain person, who must be nameless, but who ere long would 
have the fiat of her fate in his hands, &c., &c. The sentence 
was very long, and ran on from one thing into another, until i 
became a matter of difficulty to discover its real meaning. 

But it was a very happy wedding. 

The affectionate love of Basil proved itself in the joy with 
which he gave his sister to the husband who had waited so 
patiently for her ; and the gentle Millicent herself, having no 
home to regret, no parents to leave, had only one alloy on this 
her weddirg day — she had to part from Basil. 

After the ceremony was over, they left for their new home, 
Holmleigh, where Gerald was to enter at once upon his duties. 
Margaret and her husband intended paying a visit to her good 
old parents, and from thence return to Court Leigh. 

“ Dear Meg.” said Harold, as they left Erlscourt, “ I am 
sorry to leave this place, and though I mean while we are at 
Montagu House to trouble Basil pretty often with my company, 
I somehow feel as if we were leaving a good atmosphere when 
leaving him.” 

Margaret had been content to know that everything went 
well when Basil was at hand, without finding out the cause ; so 
she merely answered, — 

‘‘ I am so glad, Harold, you like him.” 

“ I do more than like him, I respect him. I begin to think 
I was not rightly brought up. Surely if Lord Erlscourt thinks 
it uecessary to look after his own affairs, to be up early and 


64 


MARGARET 


late, not suffer even the meanest of his people to be denied 
an audience — it would not be unbecoming a baronet to do the 
same.” 

“ O Harold ! but you would not like it, you would be so 
troubled and teased ; Basil has been accustomed to trouble all 
his life, his father was not good.” 

u I feel quite certain I should be horribly bored ; but I much 
question if it is not the proper thing for a landed proprietor to 
do, Queen Meg.” 

11 It may be, Harold ; but perhaps your people are different 
from Basil’s, and I should think your mother would certainly 
know what was best.” 

(Ah ! sweet Margaret, in your jealous love for your husband’s 
honor, are you not pandering to his besetting sin, indolence?) * 

“ Well, I shall think it over while I stop here, and at all 
events I will watch Basil, and see if I can adopt a hint or two. 
I believe our people are a horrid set ; but from all I can hear, 
none are more lawless than those about here. And yet what 
order he has them in; young as he is, those wild forest-men 
respect and love him as if he were their king. He is never idle 
one moment ; that, I agree, would be too much for me.” 

u O, yes ! dear Harold, you would be away from me so 
much.” 

“ What ! you always want me by your apron-strings, do you, 
little wife? I think it would be as well to absent myself now 
and then, just to see how you would welcome me back again.” 

u No, no, Harold, I could not bear it.” 

u Well, well, child, do not turn pale ; I dare say I shall never 
be anything better than idle Harold Leigh all my life, with no 
other hard work than to wait on your ladyship’s wishes. But, 
Meg, I cannot be in Lord Erlscourt’s company without thinking ; 
I cannot see his energy, activity, and judgment, without asking 
myself, Where are mine? what am I doing? and 1, really, I 
have no answer to give.” 

“You would not be other than you are, my Harold?” said 
Margaret, half mournfully. 

“ Humph ! I am not so sure of that, little wife. I think I 
could not have been formed only to hunt, shoot, fish, and yawn 
through life.” 

Basil was studying Harold’s character, and while he did full 
justice to his frank-hearted, generous disposition, and perceived 
that the image he had inherited from God was noble and good, 
he also saw the mischief that had been done to that character 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 65 

by education. His education liad been based on a false founda- 
tion. His duties had consisted of outward forms and courtesies : 
these tend to gild a fine character, and are properly the result 
of Christian principles, the polish of a self-denying, holy life. 

Harold had the gilding, but it had been placed on metal unre- 
fined, untried in the fire. Beneath the gloss, who could tell 
what dwelt? 

Basil also saw that in the warmth and fervor of a love like 
Margaret’s, the sense that would have budded forth with blos- 
som, had nothing eclipsed it, was fast becoming obscured by a 
feeling that amounted to idolatry. 

It became a character like his to try and make the man who 
had married the woman he adored, fit to be her husband ; while, 
in his gentle, brotherly way, he endeavored to open Margaret’s 
eyes to something besides her Harold. 

It was all done so unostentatiously, every right and proper 
duty was placed before Harold in a manner so pleasing and just, 
that he returned to Court Leigh with the determination to try 
and be the worthy, active proprietor of a landed estate. 

Had Margaret encouraged him, the trial might have suc- 
ceeded. But who know better than those who have tried, the 
difficulties that seem to arise, like mountains in a night, when 
you begin what may be considered an act of duty? 

Harold soon got disgusted with meddling, as his mother called 
it, in his own affairs. His steward gave him no encouragement, 
of course ; rather perplexed than helped him out of his sea of 
worries. His mother was scandalized at such unheard-of con- 
duct. Margaret was vexed to see him worried and wearied, 
while Philip Leigh laughed at him. 

No wonder then that Harold relapsed into his old habits, and 
passed- his days in listless idleness, his ideas becoming as torpid 
as his body. The measure of his disgust at trying to follow 
Basil’s example was completed by Gerald Herbert. 

The active rector of a long-neglected parish, justified by his 
holy profession to call alike on rich and poor to amend their 
lives, Gerald Herbert was deterred by no feeling of self-interest 
in declaring unwelcome truths ; still, with all his high-souled 
zeal, his pure and ardent labors, Gerald lacked the gift of per- 
suasion. 

AYhat was your duty, ought to be done ; no compromise, no 
weak excuses, no allowance for extra feebleness of will and pur- 
pose. u You ought ” and you u ought not ” formed the basis of his 
creed. 

6 * 


66 


MARGARET 


Unflinching, just, and exact, he gave no heed to weaknesses 
he knew not ; he made no allowance for failings he could not un- 
derstand. 

“ One sin makes you guilty of all,” thus he argued ; and his 
parishioners, long neglected, and only now hearing what was 
their duty, grew faint-hearted and wavering under the stern and 
uncompromising line of conduct he imposed. 

And none more so than his patron and their landlord. 

Harold, whose heart opened and whose bosom expanded at a 
line of conduct that charmed his sense, had he not been peremp- 
torily commanded to adopt it, grew stubborn and irritable under 
his rector’s lash. And Margaret and Millicent sadly learned that 
unmitigated, happy intercourse was not to be their lot. The two 
gentlemen only met to quarrel ; that is, Gerald never quarrelled, 
but he so managed to irritate Harold, that he had but to prefer 
a request to have it refused. 

Thus the good that Gerald would and could have done, was 
negatived : Harold grew even more irreligious than he had 
been ; he required to be beguiled into such feelings, never having 
been taught to consider it aught but a duty. And thus matters 
went on, each week adding to the ill effects of the last ; Philip 
Leigh seeing it all, and assisting the evil for purposes of his 
own. 

In due course of time, as Margaret predicted, she had a little 
Harold ; it was the image of its father. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

TTiien Margaret had recovered, she fulfilled a once-formed in- 
tention, aud invited her schoolmates to pay her a visit. Au- 
gusta accepted with much and unfeigned pleasure. “ Her heart 
and mind had been sadly torn by the necessity she had felt to 
break through the strongest ties of love, and separate herself 
from one who possessed her sole affections, but of whose princi- 
ples and religious character she could not be satisfied. Though 
life was henceforward but a vale of darkness for her, she deemed 
it her duty to bear up with fortitude and resignation, and she 
felt that the society of her loved Margaret, and daily communion 
with the dear Saint MilHcent, would prove the only balm that 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


67 


could soothe her. Lotty accepted, on condition that her father 
was included in the invitation, and that a flight of affectionate 
Beauvillians might now and then be tolerated, in case they felt 
it impossible to exist without looking after their chief and “ the 
girl.” Flory and Carry were abroad, the one on a wedding- 
tour, and the other accompanying her as the fyappy bridesmaid. 

Lady Katherine much approved of a little company at the 
great house : it was time Margaret should accustom herself to 
act the great lady ; though the sight of her school-fellows would 
not probably impress Margaret with the necessity of much as- 
sumption of matronly dignity. 

“ I am pleased, my dear,” said the old lady, “ that Miss Clare 
is coming ; you will do well, Georgina and Charlotte, to take 
copy by Miss Clare. Her carriage is beautiful, her courtesy 
quite perfection, her manners blend the dignified with the grace- 
ful. I do not quite admire your other friend, my dear Mar- 
garet.” 

“ My little Lotty ! she is so good. Lady Katherine.” 

“ So very obliging,” chirped Pro. 

“ So very kind,” said Pru. 

u Charlotte and Georgina, you are led away by appearances ; 
I, your mother, have said it. Surely the honored Lady-in-wait- 
ing of our good queen must know who is most worthy of your 
notice.” 

An idea crossed Margaret’s mind that Lady Katherine was 
the victim to appearances : but she had too great an opinion of 
her mother-in-law to permit such a fancy to remain there. Har- 
old’s mother too ! To the honor of the much-subdued Pru. and 
Pro., they could not subscribe in their hearts to their mother’s 
judgment in this instance ; this they showed by being silent when 
Augusta was the subject of conversation. For during the brief 
period of their intercourse at Margaret’s wedding, Augusta had 
made no secret of her amusement at their expense, and indulged 
in various unpalatable remarks about old maids, and other mat- 
ters equally foolish and absurd ; while the little Lotty had proved 
their friend on all occasions. And a friend in need she was, for 
their meek, secluded, quiet ways, were ill fitted to cope with 
rosy, healthy, happy, intelligent school-life. 

Besides, she was so amusing, and opened to the view of the 
two quiet women quite a new species of being in the world. 
Certainly there were few like that same little Lotty. Wild, ca- 
pricious, wilful, and passionate, who performed each duty as she 
did? who thought with such judgment? who mastered the most 


68 


MARGARET 


abstruse lessons with ease, who saw what no one else ever 
thought of, who was here, there, and everywhere. A midge, a 
myth, a fairy, yet a Solon, a Norma, a prophetess, — wonderful 
Lotty 1 Well might her mother die with the thought in her 
heart, “What will be my little Lotty’s fate?” 

Augusta arrived first of the expected guests, and seemed to 
find immediate consolation for the sorrows of her wounded 
heart, by discovering so distinguished and desirable a gentleman 
as Philip Leigh domesticated in the house. She at once took 
possession of his present unoccupied time, declaring that his soul 
was kindred with hers. 

Philip was not disinclined to the flirtation ; for besides thinks 
ing Augusta the handsomest woman he had seen for some time, 
he had a mind to find out if Margaret would feel the loss of 
those devoted attentions he had become accustomed to pay her. 
Augusta’s beauty was her only merit ; his clear head and . strong 
sense saw through her weak and vain character before the first 
evening was over. So, though he continued to amuse himself at 
her expense, it was merely to see the effect of his experiment. 
This reason for flirting with Augusta soon vanished, for ere 
the end of the week Margaret, to his great disgust, said to 
him, — 

“ I am so glad to see, Philip, that you like Augusta ; it would 
be very nice if you married her ; I should like her to settle near 
us.” 

Philip rode off in dudgeon, and shut himself up at home in a 
sad, sulky humor. Meantime Lotty and her fine old father ar- 
rived, attended by a brother, an uncle, and a kinsman. These 
latter meant to depart immediately, but Harold’s hospitality 
would not permit of that. It was hard to say which felt the 
most emotion, as Margaret laid her little child in her school- 
husband’s arms. 

“ I know nothing about babies,” said Lotty, trying to smother 
her feelings. 

“Is he not like Harold?” whispered Margaret, as she gazed 
lovingly on her little child. 

“ I would rather he was like you,” was the answer. “ How- 
ever, I suppose I shall not hurt him if I kiss him. There, sir, 
go away ; in a year or two we may be playfellows.” 

Really Court Leigh was not like the same place with these 
happy, jovial, good-hearted Beauvillians in it. Lotty’s father 
was an invalid, and generally remained in his own room until 
the evening. Not that he was ever alone ; sometimes the 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


69 


brother, then the son, and anon the kinsman would be flying up 
stairs, with eager faces and evident delight, to say that the 
weather was most beautiful, the wind in the right quarter. This 
would be discussed with great spirit and interest. Then another 
would appear to say, that at two o’clock Mr. Beauvilliers was to 
be ready for his drive ; charioteer, Lotty. This always caused 
a long discussion, how well she drove, who taught her, and 
other little anecdotes truly Beauvillian. Perhaps the news 
would be, that so many more -flowers had blown, that all the 
ladies were singing, playing, or working ; but no matter- what 
the news or how trivial, from the hearty jovial way in which it 
was told, it became interesting enough to form matter of history. 

In default of Philip, who seemed to have deserted her, Au- 
gusta took forcible possession of the kinsman Beauvilliers. The 
son she heard was married, the uncle too old ; but this cousin 
seemed a most suitable stop-gap, Philip being truant ; and he in 
the most innocent manner fell, as Augusta thought, open-hearted 
into the trap. He was rather more innocent than Augusta cal- 
culated on ; for she found that unless she entered with warm in- 
terest into all that concerned Lotty and her father, his attentions 
soon flagged. However, as he was a fine, handsome specimen 
of the Beauvillians, she put up with a great deal of stupidity 
from him, and contented herself with snubbing Lotty on all pri- 
vate occasions, and hating her cordially in her secret heart. 
But she was not prepared for the following stroke of ill fortune. 

She had beguiled Frank Beauvilliers (such was his name) in- 
to a charming stroll under the old oak avenue ; then and there 
she determined to open upon him the full battery of her charms 
and amiability. The engaging, pretty way in which she took 
his arm, the innocent, kind look that she bestowed on him from 
those beautiful orbs, might well deceive a stronger mind than 
that belonging to an open-hearted Beauvillian. Accordingly lie 
became more communicative and cordial than was usual even 
with his race ; and said, in answer to a very kind look, — 

u I am very much obliged to you, indeed, for bringing me 
here ; I have something on my mind, and you have been so kind 
and friendly to me, I think I cannot do better than ask your 
advice.” 

“ I will give the best I can with the greatest pleasure,” said 
Augusta, not without some wonder : for though she thought her 
present lover an innocent, in the fullest sense of the word, she 
did not think he was so very young as to be about to propose, 
after a week’s acquaintance. 


70 


MARGARET 


“ What kind people these are here,” said the good Frank, 
“ they are so thoughtful about Mr. Beauvilliers ; Lady Leigh 
treats him like a father, and he is as well taken care of here as 
at home. And then so fond of Lotty : even the old grandlady 
seems inclined to be kind to her; and as for the two Miss 
Leiglis, I really think they look upon Lotty as a sister.” 

“ Very true,” said Augusta, in a greater state of amazement 
than ever. 

“ Do you know, Miss Clare, I think I never met with kinder 
people.” 

u They are very kind, certainly, Mr. Frank ; but what has that 
to do with what you have to confide to me ? ” 

“Why, Miss Clare, it has a great deal to do with it: I can 
assure you, yesterday, when Miss Georgina Leigh was talking to 
me of Lotty, and describing all her goodness, her attentions to 
her father, her love for her relations, and then her sense, her wit, 

her cleverness Really, Miss Clare, our girl is a perfect 

wonder ; where she gets all her qualities from I cannot think, 
unless it was from her mother, who was such a woman ! my 
dear Miss Clare.” 

“ But what has all this to do with what you have to say to 
me, Mr. Frank?” put in Augusta, impatiently. 

“ Truly I beg your pardon, Miss Clare, I have wandered from 
the subject certainly ; I always do when I talk of Lotty. How- 
ever, where was I ? O ! to be sure, just where Miss Georgina 
was talking to me. Really when she said this, all in that low, 
quiet voice of hers, I could have taken her hand and kissed it ; 
T could, indeed, Miss Clare ! ” 

“ But is that all, Mr. Frank, you had to communicate?” 

“ No, not quite, Miss Clare. I wished just to ask your advice ; 
as a friend of the family, you will perhaps be able to tell me if 
th y would be affronted, if they would take it amiss, my just 
telling them my opinion.” 

“Of whom, and what, sir?” said Augusta, getting heartily 
sick of her companion. 

“ Of Miss Georgina, Miss Clare. I should like to propose for 
her, she is so fond of our Lotty ; really I should like to do some- 
thing to show my sincere gratitude ; and if Miss Georgina would 
but consent to be my wife, I would make her happiness ” 

But Augusta had fled, from what cause the innocent Beauvil- 
lian could not surmise. Perhaps it was the heat, perhaps a bee 
had stung her, and she did not like to inform him ; perhaps she 
had seen some one she knew in the distance. At any rate, the 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


71 


worthy Frank only wondered at her flight, so long as he was du- 
bious whom he should select as her successor in his confidence. 

At first he thought it should be the next person he met. Then 
it occurred to him, it would be but right towards his chieftain to 
consult him ; for he felt sure Mr. Beauvilliers would be as 
anxious as he was himself, that none of them should entertain 
ideas or wishes that could not instantly be made known to the 
family. In fact, as a point of honor, Mr. Frank felt that he 
must dismiss the amiable Georgina from his thoughts, until he 
had fully and thoroughly informed her family of his feelings 
towards her. 

Mr. Beauvilliers proved a much more efficient confidant than 
Augusta. He not only listened all through with great attention, 
but joined heartily and cordially in all the digressions on the vir- 
tues and extraordinary sense of u the girl ; ” and when the com- 
munication was supposed to be fully detailed, he was quite ready 
to listen to it all over again. 

He duly appreciated Mr. Frank’s first motive for bestowing 
his affections on the amiable and Lotty-loving Georgina : and 
nothing now remained but to call in the Beauvillians, uncle and 
son, to participate in the confidence. 

They both fully entered into the matter ; applauded Mr. Frank, 
and were quite jovial over the expedition with which he had 
fallen into love, but suggested no great improvements in the 
manner of proceeding in this delicate matter. 

So Lotty was sent for ; and as they all had anticipated, and 
told each other it would be, she hit upon the right plan in a mo- 
ment ; moreover she was highly pleased, and so praised Mr. 
F. nk for his judgment and discernment, that he quite blushed. 

Acting under Lotty’s advice, the party proceeded to Lady 
Katherine’s, and having told what appeared to be the united 
wishes of the party, asked leave for Mr. Frank to endeavor to 
make himself agreeable to Miss Georgina. 

Now many mothers, with two daughters verging on thirty 
years of age, who had never had an offer in their lives, and only 
that little episode of the curate, nipped peremptorily in the bud, 
as the nearest approach to a love affair, would have accepted at 
once, and in haste, this unexpected, most sudden sort of love-at^ 
first-sight offer. 

Not so Lady Katherine ; she took it as a matter of course ; she 
was thirty herself before she thought of such things, and never 
dreamed that her daughters would be so unmannerly as not to fol- 
low her example. But she was very gracious, and treated them 


72 


MARGARET 


to a series of court anecdotes, which might have begun in matri- 
mony, but certainly did not end in it ; they seemed also likely, 
by their length and repetition, to extend the interview to mid- 
night. 

Luckily the dressing-bell reminded her that other matters 
might demand their attention besides listening to her. All Mr. 
Frank’s private affairs were laid before her, and as they proved 
very satisfactory, he had permission given him to try and win 
Miss Georgina’s affections. “ But on no account,” said Lady 
Katherine, “be precipitate — the dear young creature must not 
be prematurely alarmed ; he had known her but a week, so she 
should wish that a more lengthened period might elapse before 
he made his proposals in due form ; etiquette demanded it.” Mr. 
Frank scrupulously obeyed Lady Katherine’s command, and said 
nothing of love to the amiable Pro. ; but his Beauvillian descent 
made it impossible for him not to betray his wishes to every per- 
son in and around the place, save the gentle object of his affec- 
tions ; everybody knew it, everybody was consulted, and every- 
body helped him in his courtship, until he, in the gratitude of 
his heart, wished he could have married them all. 

Pro. wondered at his attentions, but said nothing, only to the 
mischievous Lotty she might say, “Your cousin, Mr. Frank, is 
a most agreeable man, he has very fine eyes, something like 
yours, dear Lotty.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Philip Leigh had now been shut up for about a fortnight, 
that is, he had shut himself up. The dark spirit was upon him. 
He was disgusted with himself, and everything around him. He 
could not understand Lady Leigh’s character, it was an enigma 
to him ; he was acting like a person in the dark ; he, whose in- 
tellect commanded anything, was he to be foiled by such simpli- 
city as hers ? 

And yet what was the use of his wearing himself to death for 
nothing ? two healthy lives, each likely to be longer than his, 
stood between him and his long-wished-for title. Why need he 
tease and worry himself about a thing he could not prevent ? 
Why! indeed: but it had grown. into a habit; it had become 
second nature, amounting almost to monomania. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


73 


He was growing tired of himself and his thoughts, they were 
so meau and contemptible ; but where was he to go ? what was 
he to do ? There was no amusement in flirting with Miss Clare. 
Like a moth hurrying around a candle, she would only flutter 
about him to her own detriment ; for as to marrying a woman of 
that stamp, why, he would sooner quit the world at once, no 
matter how. As he meditated in this desultory way, Philip 
heard shrieks, prolonged and shrill. 

A few bounds brought him to his own entrance gate, where 
was chained a large bloodhound. Supported by a young girl, was 
the lady of his late thoughts, Miss Clare, and from her ruby lips 
came the fearful shrieks. 

“Miss Clare, my dear Miss Clare ! what is the matter?” he 
cried. 

“ The dog, O ! that fearful dog ! ” screamed Augusta. 

“ Hush?” said her companion, u do you not see the hound is 
chained up ? ” 

The speaker was shaded from Philip’s sight by a large hat ; 
she was also half smothered by Augusta’s larger, fuller figure. 

“ Come, Miss Clare, be pacified ; as your little friend says, the 
hound is chained up,” said Philip. 

“ Will you protect me?” gasped Augusta. 

“ Certainly ! take my arm.” K 

“ But I am so faint and ill.” 

“ Can you walk as far as my house ? ” 

“ What ! and pass that savage beast ! O ! never.” 

“ Come, Augusta, don’t be foolish,” said her companion, pet- 
tishly ; “ as if a dog like that would harm you.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Philip, u Miss Clare is so far right, 
the dog is a very savage one ; but he cannot harm her now, 
being securely chained.” 

“ A hound like that is only dangerous when chained up,” said 
the straw hat ; “if suffered to be at large, he would be more 
gentle than a lap-dog.” 

“ You are mad ! child,” said Augusta, “ talking in that foolish 
way ; such a beast would tear you limb from limb.” 

u It is not safe, I believe, to go near him,” said Philip. 

As he spoke the little girlish figure walked straight up to the 
hound, and patting him on the head, stood leaning against him. 
Then, taking off her hat, she put it playfully on the dog’s head, 
while she ran her little white fingers through her dark curls ; 
and as they divided with the touch, Philip saw for the first time 
Charlotte Beauvilliers. 

7 


74 


MARGARET 


He deemed her some rare, old picture, descended from its 
frame, walking about the world to show what unstudied beauty 
was. 

Lotty certainly was very petite ; though the Beauvillians had 
assured each other she would grow, yet she only did a very little. 

But it was such a pretty, little, light, elastic figure, so rounded 
and well-proportioned, so supple and graceful ; the little, lovely 
throat so stately and erect > and shown to such advantage by the 
small, well-folded down white collar. 

Lotty had the Beauvillian mouth and nose, the latter bending 
down with a slight approach to a Roman n^se, meeting the short 
upper lip with a curve to match ; both seemed to be in perfect 
keeping with the full rosy lip below — putting the gazer in mind 
of the pictures of Sir Joshua Reynolds’s children, but without their 
archness ; for while in his pictures the pointed chin seemed but 
the continuation of the curved mouth and nose, Lotty’s was full 
and round, giving a decision and firmness to her countenance, 
that the upper part of her face fully bore out. 

Clear, brilliant eyes, without a shadow in them, looked full at 
Philip. No triumph, no exultation in them, merely the calm, 
searching gaze of an intelligent mind. 

He stood transfixed, at a loss what to say ; but his whole 
heart occupied in looking at the picture before him. The beau- 
tiful, dark bloodhound, and the white robed, childish figure, how 
lovely they looked, thus grouped together. 

“ Now, Augusta, you can pass ; I will keep the dog quiet as 
you go by,” said Lotty at last. 

“ You will be killed, you foolish child ! and you will be rightly 
served,” was Augusta’s answer. 

Lotty put her hand under the hound’s mouth, and lifting it up, 
looked steadily into the deep-set eyes ; then putting her lips to 
his shaggy forehead, she laughed, and said, — 

“ He is as quiet as an old sheep.” 

k ‘ It is wonderful,” said Philip, at last, u the power you seem 
to have over him ; he is generally a most savage animal.” 

“ That is because you chain him up ; if he was my dog he 
should be as free as air, poor fellow ! ” 

“ TV ill you accept him? you will oblige me much if you will 
allow me the pleasure of presenting him to you.” 

“ I should like to have him very much,” said Lotty, frankly ; 
u he is the most splendid fellow I ever saw ; he seems quite 
young too, and has not lost his puppy coat.” 

“ I shall be delighted to give so fine an animal to one so 
worthy to possess him,” was the courteous reply. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


75 


“ Then 1 may loose him ? ” 

“ 0 ! don’t ; don’t for mercy’s sake ! ” said Augusta ; “ I shall 
die if you do ! ” 

“ Pray, Miss Clare, come up to my small abode, and have 
some restoratives after your long walk and alarm. Then, while 
you are resting, the hound can be loosed, and get over his fir,*t 
transports before you return.” 

“ But what is his name? ” asked the new possessor. 

“ Bear,” said Philip. 

u Bear ! ” repeated Lotty, rather confusedly. 

“ Ah ! what a good name,” said Augusta ; “ it is her own, Mi 
Leigh, great Bear and little Bear.” 

“ I cannot conceive how your young friend can deserve such 
name as Bear.” 

u O ! but she does, and I will prove it to you as we walk to 
your house. Come, little Bear.” 

“ No, I thank you, I am not fatigued, and want no refresh- 
ment ; I shall stay here and make acquaintance with my new 
friend ; ” and turning to Philip, “ I thank you, sir, very much 
for such a gift ; I shall value it highly, and you may rest assured 
I will be a kind mistress to him, though at present I must ask 
you for a small switch, as he might prove too rough in his first 
use of liberty.” 

u I do not like to leave you quite alone with him,” said Philip. 
“ I will return shortly, when I have placed Miss Clare in the 
hands of my housekeeper.” 

When Philip returned, the great Bear was loose, indulging in 
the wildest gambols, and the little Bear was standing on a great 
stone, watching him with delight. Philip stood and looked at 
her, without her being conscious of his return. 

“ Bear ! Bear ! ” she cried. The hound bounded towards her. 
u Down, Bear, down ! no rudeness, you beautiful fellow ! kiss 
me, Bear ! now be good and be off again.” 

“ Bear ! Bear ! ” again she cried. This time he was disobe- 
dient, and she stamped her little foot and shook her little switch, 
calling “ Bear,” in a peremptory manner, until he came slowly 
and deprecatingly, his loving eyes glancing furtively at the little 
stvitch, the little hand, the little childish figure. “ Naughty 
Bear ! disobedient ! go, Lotty does not love you.” 

Philip could have watched her for hours ; the quick grace of 
her movements, the sweet thrilling voice, the beautiful healthful 
face, glowing and happy, and her dress so picturesque and quaint. 
The large hat with its long drooping white feather, the cool 


MARGARET 


Jo 

dress with its little tight fitting jacket, showing the white plaited 
chemisette and round collar, the dainty little boots ; she was a 
perfect picture. 

“ Well, have you made Bear pretty obedient? ” 

“ Yes, I think so. Do you know, I am very much obliged to 
you, for I have long wanted a dog like this ; are you quite certain 
you can part with him willingly ? ” 

“ Quite certain to you ; but pray may I ask the name of the 
fortunate Bear’s mistress ? ” 

“ You heard Miss Clare call me Bear too.” 

“ But I presume I may not call you Miss Bear? ” 

“You are welcome to do so if you wish it : but now we must 
return home, having a long way to walk.” 

“ Miss Clare says she is too much fatigued to walk back. I 
have therefore offered to drive her to Court Leigh. Will you 
also favor me with your company, Miss Bear ? ” 

“ Ah, I knew very well when she asked me this morning to 
take a long walk, she would never be able to accomplish it ; 
however, come she would : I suppose she had a purpose. Per- 
haps it was to see you, as you seem old friends.” 

“ I do not presume to think so, Miss Bear, I assure you ; but 
will you not return with me to the house ? ” 

“ No, I thank you, I walked here and can walk back. Good 
morning, and thank you. Come, Bear.” 

And before Philip could say another word, the great Bear and 
the little Bear were careering along the meadows, utterly regard- 
less that they were leaving the company of the handsome, witty, 
talented, courted Philip Leigh ; for aught they seemed to care, he 
might have been ugly, stupid, and a grandfather. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Philip endeavored to elicit something from Miss Clare, on 
their drive home, regarding her little companion. “Who is the 
child that was with you ? ” said he. He saw into the depths of 
Augusta s heart as well as though he were there, and knew that 
he should gain no information if he showed any great interest in 
the matter. 

O ! little Bear ; she is a sort of school-fellow of mine.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


77 


“ And what is her name, and how came such a little uncon- 
genial companion with you, Miss Clare ? ” 

“ Yes, is she not a little absurdity? Poor child ! I believe 
she has been badly brought up, or, at all events, has no mother, 
only tribes of male relations, and they have made a little groom 
of her.” 

“ I dare say she will be passable-looking when she grows up.” 
Philip privately thought her the prettiest body he had ever seen. 

u I believe she is grown up ; at all events she has left 
school.” 

“ Where is she abiding now, that you happened to be in her 
company ? ” 

“ O, she is a wonderful friend of Margaret’s. IIow it hap- 
pened 1 don’t know, but they have sworn a never-to-die friend- 
ship, and they are as unlike each other as I am perhaps.” 

Here Augusta looked bewitchingly at Philip, who answered 
as was expected, — “ Like you, Miss Clare ! pray what possible 
thing on earth can be likened to you ? ” 

Then followed sundry little interesting passages in the true art 
of flirting, which cannot be described, as the initiated know that 
words are not so expressive as looks on such occasions. 

However, Philip having done what he considered his duty, 
continued, — “ What is the name of your little friend?” 

“ Dear me ! ” said Augusta, pettishly, “how much you seem 
interested about that girl : her name is Lotty, and she is staying 
at Court Leigh with her father, and some rough uncouth sorts 
of men relations. If you stay to dinner — and you are sure to 
be asked — you will learn all about this pet of yours. But I 
know you won’t stay to dinner, just to provoke me. I declare, 
if 1 am to be moped to death, as I have been for the last fort- 
night, I shall go home.” 

“ Ah ! Miss Clare, pray don’t darken our hemisphere by such 
a thought. Now that we have seen the sun, can we exist should 
it leave us ? ” 

Philip continued in this strain until the drive came to an end, 
mentally resolving to indemnify himself by staying to dinner if 
he were asked. Though he did not suppose the little school-girl 
“Bear” would appear in full company, he thought he might 
chance to get a glimpse of her in the evening. 

The quiet coolness with which she had walked up to the 
hound in spite of his warning, the unsophisticated delight with 
which she had taken possession of Bear, without fear, without 
nonsense of any kind, just suited his taste. u I wish the child. 
7 * 


78 


MARGARET 


was a little older,” thought he. There would be some pleasure 
in bending that little indomitable spirit to one’s will ; making 
such a little wilful thing in love with one. Unlike some one 
who shall be nameless, but who is unfortunately close by at pre- 
sent, unlike the lovely, lovesick Margaret, unlike the gentle, 
quiet MiUicent. The first, did I marry her, I should beat in a 
week; the second would pall me with sweetness; the third, I 
should respect and admire, but wicked human nature like mine 
is not given to love such saintlike goodness.” 

Philip Leigh was warmly welcomed back again, and would 
have been forcibly detained to dinner, had he not already con- 
sented to remain. 

As all were assembled for dinner, Philip stood, his fine figure 
erect, his handsome face, calm and proud, with the quiet disdain 
in his dark eyes that was usual there. He had been introduced 
to three Mr. Beauvilliers, all bearing their honest, kind natures 
in their countenances and appearance. 

He was watching the amiable goodness with which one of 
them was devoting himself to the amusement of Pro., when 
the door opened, and unmistakably a fourth Mr. Beauvilliers 
appeared. The likeness to the others was palpable ; though an 
aged and white-haired man, they seemed but as shadows in his 
presence ; for a more magnificent specimen of a fine old English 
gentleman Philip had never seen. And leaning his large, 
powerful hand on the dimpled shoulder of a little figure by hit? 
side, Philip could scarcely believe, at first, that he saw before 
him the little Bear, and the occupier of his thoughts. 

“ Miss Beauvilliers and Mr. Beauvilliers,” said Harold, intro- 
ducing them ; “ my cousin, Philip Leigh.” 

It was a habit of the Beauvillians always to shake hands on 
an introduction, a good hearty shake ; and Philip’s hand was in 
that powerful grasp, without his having withdrawn his eyes 
from the little fairy figure. 

“ You are the gentleman who has been so kind as to give my 
Lotty a very valuable preseut. Thank ye, sir, thank ye ; shake 
hands, Lotty, and let me hear you say thank ye, too,” said her 
father. 

Lotty laid her little tiny hand for a moment in Philip’s, who 
could hardly believe he held anything, after her father’s gigantic 
grasp. Then saying, in a soft, but clear voice, “ Thank you, 
Mr. Leigh,” she put the great hand on her shoulder again, and 
guided her father’s feeble feet to a large chair in the window. 
There was no look of the child about her now. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


79 


•• Do you know,” said Philip, after dinner, when he had con- 
trived to get a seat near her, 44 I took you for a little girl.” 

u I suppose no one would consider, me a big one,” answered 

Lotty. 

44 1 mean,” said Philip, rather put out by her answer, u that 
I really thought you were a child. If I had known that you 
were Miss Beauvilliers, I should have treated you with greater 
respect.” 

44 And ought not children to have polite treatment as well as 
ladies ? ” 

44 I beg your pardon, certainly they ought ; but Miss Clare so 
puzzled me about you, I fear I ran into great mistakes, and 
must beg you will grant me forgiveness.” 

44 If I find no fault, I do not see why you need be peni- 
tent.” 

44 I will forgive myself, then, for having fallen into such an 
error. But permit me to ask, did you reach home in safety? 
did Bear behave as so noble a dog should, transferred to such 
lovely hands?” 

44 We arrived in safety, and 1 make no doubt Bear will 
be much happier with me than you, for he will have his 
liberty.” 

44 You have been here a fortnight, have you not ? and I never 
knew it ; what a dolt I have been,” said Philip. 

44 Perhaps so. But I do not know you sufficiently well to 
assent to your judgment as yet,” replied Lotty. 

44 Surely you can see that I consider myself a dolt, for having- 
deprived myself, for one whole fortnight, of an introduction to 
you,” continued Philip, trying his usual style of conversati; n 
with Augusta. 

44 1 think it was unlucky for Bear ; but as for you and I, I do 
not suppose we shall care for each other at the end of a fortnight, 
more than we do now.” 

44 Nay, Miss Beauvilliers, you are unkind to me. May I not 
look forward to being favored with your esteem, and then per- 
haps regard, if I prove worthy of such friendship ? ” 

Those large, clear, brilliant eyes looked full into his. The 
scrutiny seemed satisfactory. 

44 1 am not likely to think with indifference of the person who 
has given me so great a pleasure as the possession of Bear. But 
here is my father coming, and Miss Clare has been looking at 
you for the last hour, wondering how you can prefer such child- 
ish company to hers.” 


MARGARET 


89 

She was at the door ere he could stop her. It opened, Mr. 
Beauvilliers was there as she said. “ Ah, my darling ! ” the 
fond father cried, “ as usual, always ready. I came so quietly ; 
but no, I cannot move, but my Lotty hears.” The massive 
hand leaned on the little, slight girl, and when placed in his 
chair, with Lotty on the arm of it, Philip saw he could hope for 
no further word from the little Bear ; so he talked to Augusta, 
and looked at Lotty, and was not unhappy. 

It was a~ sight to see the father and daughter together. Lotty 
seemed to feel intuitively when her father wanted his cushions 
changed, which foot he would like placed on the footstool, what 
subject he most affected to converse upon ; while at no time did 
the fine, massive old frame move, but the large hand rested on 
the slight figure, sometimes on the round little ivory shoulder, 
sometimes on the rich waving curls, but at all times it felt its 
treasure within its grasp. 

There sat Lotty like a little queen, her radiant eyes speaking 
straight into the heart — “ I know my duty, and I love it, and 
fulfil it ; ” and the loving Beauvillians would sit round, and pay 
her the homage she deserved. 

And they seemed to have brought the blessing of their fine 
frank natures on the dull old house of Court Leigh. Harold 
was no longer morose or unhappy, or inclined to quarrel with 
Gerald ; Margaret was as beaming and smiling as the happiest 
wife and mother could be. Lady Katherine stepped forth from 
out of her courtly state manners, in a way quite astonishing to 
those who knew her. The ice of reserve and etiquette was 
thaAving under the genial glow of the Beauvilliers. 

As for Pru. and Pro., for the first time in their lives they felt 
young ; and when Pru. (having had that little curate experi- 
ence, several times mentioned before) suggested to Pro., that 
Mr. F rank really seemed very particular in his attentions ; the 
gentle Pro* blushed, and the blush remained on her somewhat 
faded cheek, giving her so pretty a bloom, that Mr. Frank grew 
quite rampant for the days of his probation to be over. 

Gerald’s uncompromising sternness gave way before the 
hearty good will of the Beauvilliers. 

“ My dear sir,” said the fine old squire, when Gerald, in the 
flush of his anxious heart, to do good to all who came in his 
way, offered to read and talk daily with him — (for the days of 
this aged pilgrim were numbered, as he himself knew full well) 
— “ My dear sir, God be merciful to me a sinner. At my age. 
with the seeds of a mortal disease within me, it does not become 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


81 


me to inquire into any new creed, or way of worshipping God. 
I ask myself, Have I done my duty well? and I can only 
answer, To the best of my ability, I have tried.” 

“ But, my dear sir, you must confess before God that you are 
a miserable, blind, poor, lost sinner. Do you feel the need of 
a Saviour?” 

“ I do not feel the need. I feel I have him ; God be thanked 
for the peace and calm of my closing years.” 

“That, I am afraid, is not sufficient. We must purge out 
the old man with fasting, prayer, and penitence ; we must not 
leave a singlev sin unexposed, unconfessed. Ah ! my dear sir, 
think of the beatitude of such a state of sinless repose.” 

“ Every man, my dear Mr. Herbert, must not expect such 
a lot, or where would be the need of the Saviour? I am apt. 
to think now, at the end of the days of my pilgrimage, that 
this, our state, is not so much to attain perfection, as to work 
the daily task of human life, by which we may be rewarded 
with perfection.” 

“ I see what you mean, Mr. Beauvilliers ; but such an error 
is dangerous, most dangerous.” 

“ It will be dangerous for my father to sit here any longer in 
this draught, Gerald,” would Lotty say ; “ so while I take him 
into the house, go and preach to Augusta, or some other great 
sinner.” 

Then would Gerald look grave, and perhaps rebuke Lotty 
for being flippant, who would answer gravely back again, — 

“ I am ready to confess, and be sorry.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Mr. Frank’s days of probation were over, Lady Katherine 
having graciously condescended to say that the time deemed fit 
by propriety, decorum, and courtly example, being fulfilled, he 
was at liberty to make his proposals to Miss Georgina herself. 
And in furtherance of such object, she said to the astonished 
Pro.,— 

“ Get your parasol, and take a turn with Mr. Frank under 
the walnut trees.” 

Certainly this was rather a public place for such a circum- 


82 


fa ABOARD 


stance, inasmtich the avenue was commanded from every 
window in her house, as well as those of Court Leigh. 

Pro. never dreamt of disobeying, and Mr. Frank, fortified 
with various powerful shakes of the hand from his kinsmen, 
and many good wishes for his success, departed with the ami- 
able object of his affections at a decorous distance from his 
side. 

Most, men would have been nervous had they supposed them- 
selves to be under the surveillance of many curious eyes (though 
no words could be heard), in such delicate circumstances ; but 
it was a peculiarity of the Beauvillians that they could do noth- 
ing in secret or alone. Therefore, Mr. Frank thought with 
pleasure and satisfaction of the eager and anxious Beauvillian 
eyes that would be scanning his every action, as he took this 
eventful walk. 

Lady Katherine also took her station at her window, that she 
might be able to judge with her own eyes that the proposal was 
made and accepted according to the strictest rules of etiquette. 
Pro. herself was the only unconscious person in all these base 
plots, and went, -perhaps a little fluttered, but quite an innocent 
victim to Iter destiny. 

They walk about a yard apart, 

Mr. Frank bows. 

u He is beginning,” say the eager Beauvillians, from their 
windows. 

“ Very respectful,” thinks Lady Katherine, from her window. 

Pro. starts, and Mr. Frank bows lower. 

u He is in full cry,” exclaim his sympathetic kinsmen. 

“ Poor child ! how fluttered she will be,” murmurs Lady 
Katherine. 

Pro. stops 'short, then starts again, as if about to run away. 
Mr. Frank places himself before her, and bows lower than ever. 

u He is well on the scent,” cry the Beauvillian windows. 

“I almost think he is at this moment proposing,” says the 
other window. 

Pro. drops her parasol, and attempts to grasp at it. Mr. 
Frank takes the extended hand in his. 

“ Bravo, Frank ! that’s the way ; you have her now ! ” cry the 
Beauvillians. 

u O ! ” gasps Lady Katherine ; she half thought she must 
shut her eyes, but her anxiety to see that all was conducted 
with the strictest propriety, made her look more vigilantly than 
•-ver. 


A NJJ mu MiDEmAWS, 


SB 


Fro, puts her handkerchief to her eym ; Mr. Frank bows 
lower than ever, so low, indeed, that surely he is kissing her 
hands. 

“ ’Tis done ! she’s won ! ” shouted the Beauvillians. 

“ O ! O ! O dear ! ” cries Lady Katherine, and vanishes 
from the window, for fear he should do it again, or something 
worse. 

Mr. Frank was seen to draw the lady’s arm within his, in 
a very tender and gallant manner, then picking up the parasol, 
he bore off his prize to a more shady and secluded walk. Not, 
however, without giving his hat a sort of flourish in the air, 
which was the sign agreed upon to denote his- complete success, 
ere they disappeared. 

Though all the Beauvillians were impatient to the last degree 
to shake Mr. Frank’s hand off in hearty congratulations, and to 
bestow kinsmanly salutes upon the bride-elect’s cheek, it was 
deemed only right and kind to send Lotty first, for fear she 
should be overcome ; the loving little Lotty, who, by winning 
the gentle Pro.’s heart, had inspired Mr. Frank with such a 
prodigious idea of her sense and discernment. 

Lotty met them after an hour’s absence. Mr. Frank was like 
a sunflower ; so broad and expansive was his triumphant de- 
light. Pro. had shrunk between bashfulness and bewilderment 
into such a shred, that she was quite hidden behind the glowing 
Mr. Frank. 

“ How do you do, dear Cousin Georgina?” said Lotty, 
smiling. 

“ O ! dear,” cried Pro., getting quite limp and damp, with a 
sudden gush of tears ; “ how very nice ! and you, darling Lotty, 
is it true that we shall be cousins ? Dear ! dear ! how am 1 
ever to believe this wonderful thing ! ” 

“ I knew you would be pleased, dearest Georgina,” said 
the gallant Mr. Frank, “ at being Lotty’s cousin. I felt more 
certain that you would accept me on that account than any 
other.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” answered Pro., innocently ; “ you are very 
kind to say so, Mr. Frank, that is just it. But, indeed, I ought 
to say, that you — that is all — in fact, my sister and I think 
there never was any family like yours, dear Lotty, for goodness 
and kindness.” 

u May you ever think so, dear, sweet Georgina,” exclaimed 
Mr. Frank, pressing her hand so tenderly, that Pro. grew quite 
nervous, and looked helplessly at Lotty to relieve her. 


84 


MARGARET 


“ I thank you also, cousin Georgina,” said Lotty, “ and I 
am sure you will find out shortly, of all the Beauvillians, there 
is no one so good as cousin Frank.” 

“ Shall I, indeed?” said the innocent Pro. 

“ Yes, that you will. See how Margaret loves Harold ; that's 
just the way you will love Frank, and be running after him all 
day in the same silly manner.” 

“ No affection that my Georgina deigns to bestow on me, 
dear Lotty, will be thrown away, as you know,” replied Mr. 
Frank. 

“ Well, that being clearly arranged, I think you two ought 
to go to Lady Katherine, to get kissed and blessed. After that, 
you know, cousin Georgina, you must take to loving Frank 
instead of me, and I shall expect in a few days to hear you 
calling out at the top of your voice, ‘My darling Frank.’” 

“ 1 shall ever love you, dear Lotty, in my heart of hearts,” 
whispered the half-smiling, half-crying Pro. 

The whole of that evening was spent quite as an April day. 
When the Beauvillians took the lead, the sun seemed to shine 
out in the most refulgent manner ; when Lady Katherine spoke, 
little gentle drippings of rain poured down, in the shape of tears, 
from herself, Pru. and Pro. 

On the whole it was a most exciting evening ; but Lotty was 
not prepared when she went to their room to wish her new 
cousin good night, to find the two sisters in convulsions of 
grief. 

“ Heyday ! ” said Lotty, “ what is the matter, that you are 
howling like two naughty children?” 

“We have never been separated,” sobbed Pru. 

“ I only wish Charlotte could marry too,” sighed Pro. 

“ I see not the slightest objection to that,” said Lotty ; “I 
will send for another of my cousins, or one of my brothers.” 

“ O, no, no ! that won’t do,” cried Pru. 

“ I don’t know, Charlotte, but I think it might,” said Pro. 

4 0, no, no ! ” again cried Pru. 

With a great deal of trouble and difficulty, Lotty was at last 
made aware that there was once a curate. 

“ Well ! so there are now,” said Lotty, “ numbers, if Char- 
lotte wants to marry a clergyman. I don’t think any of our 
people are in that line, Pro.” 

“ But it was not any curate ; it was one, one in particular.” 

And the elderly but most simple-hearted Pru. poured forth the 
long-cherished secret of her heart into the unsympathizing bosom 
of the little girlish mischief, Lotty. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


85 


“Well, don’t cry so. It' he is half worthy of you, he is still 
unmarried.” 

“Yes, I know he is,” sobbed Pru., that makes me so — so — 
so ” the rest of the sentence was lost in a burst of grief. 

“ Now do chefer up, Pru., and listen to reason. When Pro. is 
married and settled, she could have you to visit her ; then she 
would ask the curate, and then you would meet. Now, what 
could be nicer than that?” 

“And I will ask him, dear Charlotte; and Mr. Frank, I 
know, will help me, and ask him too, and then, perhaps, as dar- 
ling Lotty says, it will all turn out so nicely.” . 

But Pru. still wept sorely. 

“ Now, Pru., you are naughty,” said Lotty, with great 
ferocity, knitting her brows, and looking as bearish as she could. 
“ Here is your sister so happy, going to marry a Beauvilliers, 
and he my cousin, and you are weeping like Niobe.” 

“ We have never been separated before, dear Lotty,” sobbed 
Pru., jerking out her words between each sob. 

“ I am sure if the law would allow it, Frank would marry you 
both if he could. But as it won’t, you must make up your mind 
to Pro.’s loss.” 

“I — I — ca’-a’-an’t, dea-e-ar Lo-otty ! ” 

“ I will not marry then, dearest Charlotte,” said Pro. ; “ I 
will never leave you.” 

“ There,” said Lotty, indignantly, “ there, what a fine speci- 
men of sisterly affection I see before me. Two fond and loving, 
hearts separated, because you are so selfish, Charlotte?” 
h “ O, O, O, do’-o’-o’-n’t, dear Lotty ! ” 

“ Made miserable forever ; perhaps they will both pine away 
and die, and then when Pro. is the bride of death, as novels say, 
what will you do then, you unkind Charlotte?” 

“ O, I am so sorry, I will say no more ; dear Lotty ! pray 
forgive me. Dear, dear Georgina, take my best wishes for your 
ftappiness.” 

[ “ Now, that’s a good girl. And when you see Pro. so happy, 
acting her very self in her new home, and doing the civil and 
polite to you when you pay her a visit, think how delighted you 
will be ; and you will say to yourself, 4 1 consented to the 
marriage. Great as was the sacrifice, I helped to make my Pro. 
thus happy.’ ” 

Warmed by this glowing description, Pru. dried her eyes, and 
permitted herself to be comforted. 

8 


86 


EiAiiOARET 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Philip Leigh no longer shut himself up. Ou the contrary, 
he was never at home. A master-passion had taken possession 
of his soul, under the influence of which the long nourished, 
flourishing plant of envy and malice withered and shrank until 
it appeared to die. 

He kept up a semblance of attentions to Augusta. In fact, 
she demanded them, and was one of those helpless exigeante sorts 
of young ladies who immediately they see any specimen of the 
male species near them, "become in instant want of a thousand 
little indispensable absurdities. 

Philip would watch the woman-child with his quiet, thought- 
ful eyes, while he administered to Augusta’s many little wishes, 
the non-fulfilment of which seemed to threaten her with immedi- 
ate destruction. 

“ O, Mr. Leigh ! I have been dying for you to arrive, and 
play billiards with me ; and if you don’t come immediately 
I shall expire with impatience.” 

“ Pray don’t, Miss Clare,” returned Philip, “ as I shall be un- 
der the necessity of acting chief mourner.” 

“And would you not grieve for me?” murmured Augusta, 
laying a stress on the personal pronoun, nominative case. 

“ I fear I should be quite insensible to anything, Miss Clare,” 
said Philip, catching Lotty’s amused glance at Augusta’s delight- 
ed assumption of the one meaning, and utter unconsciousness of 
the other and more palpable one. 

“Don’t you think so, Miss Beauvilliers? ” continued Philip, 
who never lost an opportunity of provoking Lotty to talk. 

“ You ought to be,” answered Lotty, drily. 

“And pray, child, what can you know about such things? 
You are as bad as Mr. Herbert with your ‘ oughts,’ ” said 
Augusta. 

“As * good’ would have been more appropriate, Augusta.” 

“O ! we are getting better, are we? We are going to church 
to early prayers ” 

“ No, not going,” said Lotty. 

“ I am sure I am devoutly glad to hear it,” said Augusta, with 
as near an approach to a sneer as her pretty face would allow. 

“ ’Tis as well to be devout about some things,” said the imper- 
turbable Lotty. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


87 


* w But you are devoutly thankful for nothing, Miss Clare,” said 
Philip. “Miss Beauvilliers only said she was not going to early 
prayers. Now she may have gone.” 

“ O, the little Puseyite ! Pray take me away, Mr. Leigh ; I 
shall be contaminated. Little absurd Bear ! I shall tell your 
father, and get you put into the corner.” Lotty raised her eyes 
and looked at the fond old father. As she caught his glance, a 
look of such unutterable love and fondness broke over her face, 
that Philip was quite startled. 

In a moment she was on the arm of the old cushioned chair, 
the large, loving hand was on her dark curls ; she looked like a 
little pearl gleaming in the clasp of a grand, old, hoary Neptune. 

What a protean little thing it was — never two minutes the 
same. Staid, womanly, and thoughtful in all that concerned her 
father ; wild, laughing, and childish with Pru. and Pro. ; clever, 
witty, and sensible with Margaret and Millicent ; sharp, irascible, 
and sarcastic with Augusta and Philip ; and in each and every- 
thing the most bewitching little fairy that ever crossed mortal 
eye. 

It was a most lovely summer day, so much so, that when- 
Philip appeared for his now daily visit, he found the whole party, 
including even Mr. Beauvilliers, out under the trees, all employed 
in different ways. Augusta called the visitor to her side, saying, 
“ Mr. Leigh, I have kept this place for you.” 

Philip surveyed them all. Lady Katherine had a tree to her- 
self, knotting away with diligent industry at what was of no use 
in the world, as she had already by her the life-labors of herself 
and daughters at this interesting work, almost all in an unappro- 
priated state. Millicent and Margaret had the next tree, Harold 
half dozing on the grass by Margaret’s side, and half interested 
in a French novel. Little Harold lay sleeping between them. 
No wonder, therefore, that Margaret’s cheek glowed and her soft 
eyes sparkled — she had all she loved within her touch. 

A little out of the line, but in full sight of Lady Katherine, 
sat Mr. Frank and the gentle Georgina, she pretending to knot, 
and he pretending to help her. Pro. was fast losing her name. 
Under the influence of the Beauvillian bonhommie, Mr. Frank 
had absolutely saluted his bride elect, and that in the presence of 
Lotty ; but, however, no one told Lady Katherine. Pru., 
Augusta, and Philip were under another tree ; not far from 
them was Mr. Beauvilliers’s chair, on the arm of which was 
perched the Little Bear — Great Bear serving as a cushion for 
the old gentleman’s feet, 


88 


MARGARET 


Presently the Little Bear slid down, and pulling the Great 
Bear by his ears, with many fond and loving epithets, she so ar- 
ranged him, as to change Mr. Beauvilliers’s position. 

“ Thanks, my darling ! — thanks ! that lias eased me greatly,’! 
said the fond father. 

u How you do tease that dog, Lotty ! ” cried Augusta. 

“ Do I tease you, my Bear ! ” asked the childish Lotty, as she 
kissed him ; and his great red tongue licked her little white 
hand. 

Great Bear looked up a loving, intelligent answer from his 
deep-set eyes. 

u Dear Lotty tease anything!” cried Pru., quite in a flush. 
u O, no, Augusta ! ” 

“ She does ! She is the most thoughtless, heedless child that 
ever was ! You did very wrong, Mr. Leigh, to trust your fine 
dog to her,” continued Augusta. 

Mr. Beauvilliers laid his hand on the pretty head. “ Yes, 
yes ; she is a naughty, unkind Lotty ! ” In the innocence of his 
heart he thought Augusta was as ironical in her remarks as him- 
self. 

“How will you punish me, father?” said Lotty, still in her 
childish glee. 

“ I think I won’t love you, Lotty,” and the little thing was in- 
stantly folded in that large embrace. 

“ Little Lotty,” said Millicent, “ I hope you did not get wet 
this morning ; the dew was so heavy.” 

“Ah, me ! ” exclaimed Augusta, “ the little Puseyite has been 
to church this morning.” 

“ Did you think of your fond old father, my Lotty?” said Mr. 
Beauvilliers. 

“Yes, father ; you know I did.” 

“ I know it, my child ; but I like to hear you say so.” 

“ O Mr. Beauvilliers ! how can you encourage Lotty in such 
popish things?” asked Augusta. 

“I am sorry if they are popish, Miss Clare; but my Lotty 
comes in to me from her early prayers with the fresh beauty of a 
young Christian surrounding her.” 

“ And she is one,” whispered Pru., as if to herself. 

“ Now, Lotty,” said Augusta, “ come here and confess : why 
do you go so early to church ? ” 

“ To say my prayers.” 

“ Pooh, child ! I know that ; but what other reason can you 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS 


89 


“ To get wet with the early dew/* 

“You are more bearish than ever, Lotty ; but I see it is use- 
less trying to get a sensible answer from such a baby as you 
are ! ” ' 

“ Perhaps ! think you would not understand my answer.” 

“ That is so likely, little goose ! however, tell it to me ; I 
must know.” 

“ Then,” said Lotty, standing erect before them, “ I will tell 
you my reasons. In the first place, when I heard that Gerald 
was establishing the early service in tliff small village, and cele- 
brating the saints’ days, besides other things, I questioned to 
myself the propriety of his doing so.” 

“ Dear me ! how kind you were, and how wise you have 
grown.” 

“ Pray hush, Miss Clare,” said Philip ; “I am very anxious.” 

“ So am I, dying with curiosity.” 

“ And I,” said Margaret, “ am also curious ; I put faith in 
my little Lotty’s reasons.” 

“ But before I could pass judgment,” continued Lotty, “ I 
said to myself, that I must make a trial thereof. And I have 
done so.” 

“ And pray what is the result? ” said one and all. 

“ I think Gerald will not succeed in his wishes. The present 
generation are not that primitive race of former days, who, hav- 
ing but little labor on hand, gladly accepted any occupation for 
the early hours that were then kept. We can no more force 
upon the people of this age the religious services and duties that 
occupied their many leisure hours in earlier times, than we can 
make them use rushes for carpets and sheepskins for clothing. 
Healthy, active, honest industry is religion of itself. True, peo- 
ple may say, that such services occupy but half an hour in a 
day, and that it must be sweet to the laboring man to go to his 
work straight from his God : but he does not carry all that his 
heart holds dear with him ; wife and children, or some part of 
his family, are left at home from necessity. Therefore, I think, 
if Gerald inculcated family prayer at home he would be doing 
more good. That is more fitted for the present day.” 

“ Then why do you go, child? ” said Augusta. 

“ Because,” said Lotty, her large eyes growing soft and dark, 
as the shadow of sorrow passed into them, “ I have a prayer to 

make to God ” she paused, and continued low, “ for a life 

that I love. And besides,” she continued louder, “ I like to run 
a race with the sun. I love to see his bright face gilding up the 
8 * 


MARGARET 


m 

world, the little dew-drops just waiting to welcome him, and 
then imperceptibly vanishing. I like to feel fresh and free, as 
the young, bright day ; and I like to take all my first feelings to 
God in his house. And the world is so beautiful in the early 
morning. Now, father, here is the round cushion,. it is his turn 
now ; and Bear, Bear, you dear old thing ! turn yourself round.” 

“ I think, Lotty,” said Harold, rousing himself, “ you made 
some sensible remarks just now.” 

“ O, she found them in some book,” interrupted Augusta. 

“ Indeed I did,” anJVered Lotty. 

“ There, I told you so,” exclaimed Augusta. 

“ And what book, little Lotty? ” asked Millicent. 

“ It is before you,” said Lotty, spreading out her hands, and 
looking with glowing eyes on the scene around them. 

u I did not think you were so romantic, Lotty,” said Harold. 

“ I was speaking for you, Harold,” said Lotty ; “just saying 
what you would say, as master and head of all here. And thus, 
Harold, you think of the Forest and all its loveliness. People 
talk of architecture and laws of beauty, and lines of grace. 
Take the arch of an avenue, and see if lordly man can build such 
symmetry of grace as that. When we were at Montagu House, 
Basil used to show us all the beauties of the Forest, did he not, 
Margaret? And so we came to love trees and Basil together, 
and both most dearly.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say so, little Lotty,” said a voice be- 
hind the tree. Lotty turned, and with a glad cry sprang towards 
the speaker. He placed both hands round her slight waist, and 
lifting her, as a feather, from the ground, kissed her on both 
cheeks. 

“.0, don’t, Basil ! remember I have left school,” said Lotty. 

“Is that any reason why I should love my little Lotty less? ” 
said Basil smiling. 

Millicent was in his arms ; Harold sprang up with alacrity ; 
Margaret gave him a sister’s welcome ; Augusta arranged her 
curls. Basil was a better parti than Philip ; Lady Katherine 
was most gracious and benign ; but all this warm, hearty wel- 
come was nothing to Philip in comparison to the first one. A 
flush of rage made a strange, tumultuous beating of his heart ; 
and when he saw the noble, expressive countenance, the calm, 
serene eyes, with nothing of the youth about him, but the fair, 
waving curls, all the manlv bearing of fine athletic grace and 
power, Philip felt the wild demon of jealousy was running 
through his veins. The blood of the Leighs was hot and tern- 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


91 


pestuous when roused. He could have, shot like a dog, the noble 
specimen of a man that stood before him. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

“Ah, Basil, why did you not. come before?” cried Millicent. 

“ Yes,” said Harold, “ make a clean breast of it, my dear fel- 
low, and confess why you have been so long in fulfilling your 
promise of visiting u;.” 

“We have been expecting you with so much anxiety,” added 
Margaret. 

“ I can assure you, Lord Erlscourt,” said Lady Katherine, 
“ your reception has been daily thought of, and cared for, 
though your unexpected arrival has not permitted us to show 
you this respect.” 

Basil smiled, and answered, “ I had a very poor reception, I 
can assure you, Lady Katherine ; for when I arrived at the Rec- 
tory, there was no kind sister to welcome me : no one, but a 
man, whom I supposed to be my brother, but who was so deeply 
absorbed in writing his sermon, that all he did was to show me 
the door, and direct me in the patli to Court Leigh.” 

“But why did you not come before?”’ said Millicent. 

“ Do you not know, Milly dear, that I have affairs to attend 
to, more than all children ? The two boys had set their hearts 
on spending their holidays in the Forest with me. I can assure 
you we have had a merry time.” 

“ They must be very different children to what they were, 
Basil.” 

“ I am glad to say, quite so, Milly. In fact, I am so proud 
of them, that I half thought of bringing them down to see you.” 

“ Pray, dear Basil, do so, their next holidays.” 

“ But now, Basil,” said Margaret, “ you must be introduced 
to three people — Miss Clare, Mr. Leigh, Lord Erlscourt.” 

As Basil lifted his hat from his head, and displayed his whole 
face to their view, Philip felt inclined to curse him in his heart, 
while Augusta mentally exclaimed, — 

“ He is too beautiful for a man ! ” 

The noble brow was shaded by almost feminine curls, so light 
and wavy were they, the dark biue eyes beamed with sweetness 


92 


MARGARET 


but energy, while a lingering shadow in them imparted a look 
of grave dignity to his whole countenance, that befitted an older 
man. But when he spoke, and this smile gleamed out, . the 
laughing innocence of a fair, bright boy seemed to take the place 
of the older man. 

“ But where is the third? ” said Basil. 

“ Here ! ” said Margaret, placing her boy in his arms. 

Philip noted the instant change of countenance, the sudden 
shock, that made the strong frame tremble with its light burden, 
but as he looked it was gone. Whatever Basil felt, it passed 
away with the kiss he gave Margaret’s boy, and his countenance 
was serene as ever when he raised it. 

“I am no judge of babies, Margaret,” said he, “ only of 
rough, hardy school-boys ; and I will show my two against the 
world.” 

“ I am glad you have come now, Basil,” said Lotty ; “for we 
are going home in a week.” 

“ I intend, Lotty, to beguile you and your father to my forest 
home some day,” returned Basil. 

“ Will you go, father? ” asked Lotty, eagerly. 

“Yes, my best Lotty.” 

“ And see, Basil, what a splendid hound I have.” 

“ Beautiful ; upon my word, he is superb ! with him little 
Lotty, we shall have rare sport.” 

Philip’s heart grew calmer as he witnessed the sort of childish 
behavior of Lottie to Lord Erlscourt ; and when he left with his 
sister, was quite ready to join with Augusta in her praises. 

“ So liandsome, so distingue , so elegant,” she said. 

“ So good, so noble, so brave,” echoed a little mocking voice 
behind her. 

“You little bear ! ” 

“ Then forbear, Augusta, applying such epithets to Basil. In 
looking at him, one does not think so much of his personal 
appearance as his character.” 

“ O, if we are going to have a sermon I shall retire.” 

It did not take Basil many days to discover that beneath the 
polished surface of tlieir life, there w T as a sure, though slumber- 
ing, volcano sleeping, that required but little to boil over ; 
especially as Gerald confided to him, in glowing, lofty language, 
the supineness, indolence, and indifference of the squire of his 
parish ; while Harold in his turn, dilated on the stern exactness, 
and almost rude interference, with which his rector meddled in 
his matters. It was no part of Basil’s creed to make himself a 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


93 


go-between. He ever deemed it better policy for people situated 
as his brother and Sir Harold, to leave them to adjust their own 
differences ; for where strong religious principles, conscientious 
determination of duty, were mingled with singleness of heart, 
and utter forgetfulness of self, the uprightness of such a charac- 
ter would make its own way, and bear down all opposition. 
This, Basil knew, was Gerald’s character ; and while he might 
lament that, with over-much zeal, he had created in Harold’s 
heart a strong personal dislike, he deemed that heart too gen- 
erous and frank to resist the good Gerald wished him. 

But Basil was not aware how much the demon of indolence 
and torpidity had taken possession of Harold. He was more 
concerned to see that the gentle playfellow of his early days 
passed on her quiet way, content with the present, without fear 
for the future. In no one way was Margaret improved, but was 
sinking into a meek, inane character, with no feeling beyond 
what concerned her Harold. And he knew her in reality so 
different. Many episodes in their childish life rose before him, 
wherein her sense, her judgment, and endurance, all marked 
her as fitted for much more than the indolent life she was now 
leading. 

“ Little Lotty, Queen Margaret is leading a sad, useless life 
here,” said Basil, one day to the little Bear, as she was romping 
with the great Bear. 

“ She only thinks of two things in the world, Basil ; and that 
is what you and I are not accustomed to.” 

“No, Lotty; it was different when she was a little, wild 
school-girl like you. Have you not tried to reason with her ? ” 

“ No, Basil.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Her time has not yet come. I would rather preach to you, 
my Bear ; you would understand me sooner,” continued Lotty, 
to her dog. 

Lotty looked up as Basil continued silent. He was in deep, 
painful thought. 

“ You must save her, Basil.” 

“ How, Lotty? ” 

“ I don’t know ; but you must try to awaken her from' her 
dream of security. I thought one night she would perhaps show 
some emotion. Harold was not quite good — sometimes he is 
not — that is, you know he stays rather longer in the dining- 
room than he ought ; lie always does when Lady Katherine is 
here. As he lay with sleepy eyes half back in his chair, some- 


94 


MARGARET 


body that shall be nameless entered into conversation with him. 

I suppose she was more amusing than usual, for there ensued so 
violent a flirtation, that Lady Katherine swept out of the room, 
carrying Pru. and Pro. with her. I looked at Margaret ; she 
did not seem to be taking the least notice. And when that 
somebody said, in a simpering, fawning way, ‘ I hope, dear, you 
don’t mind my little flirtation with Sir Harold this evening/ 

4 Ah, no,’ said Queen Margaret (for which I could have beaten 
her, Basil), 4 it is so kind of you to amuse him.’ ” 

44 Did she feel no indignation, Lotty?” 

“ Well, she might, perhaps ; but I’ll tell you what she meant 
Basil ; she would die rather than that any one should thinl 
Harold was wrong, or could do wrong ! ” 

“ I believe it ! I believe it ! Yes, I know that must be her 
thought.” 

44 We are going to drive to-day, Basil ; pray come with us. 

I will be charioteer, and I will take care to drive you to what 
Gerald would call 4 some improving scenes ’ ! ” 

Having seen both her Harolds so employed until she returned, 
that they would not miss her, Margaret went with the delighted 
Lotty and Basil. Margaret had not enjoyed stich a merry drive 
since she was a school-girl. Basil was most amusing, with all 
his stories of everyday life,' and what he did at home, looking 
so fresh, handsome, and animated, that, whether she liked it or 
not, the idea of a dark, silent, heavy companion, who usually sat 
there, was perpetually rising to her mind in contrast. Then 
Lotty’s quaint little comments upon Basil’s stories were so racy, ■ 
that even he was in fits of laughing. They had no servant with 
them, and, whether from design or accident, Lotty was perpetu- 
ally desiring to have something done to the harness. Basil 
would be out at the ponies’ heads on the instant. 

44 Our servant is active, is he not, Queen Meg?” 

44 He is, indeed, my Lotty ; how he springs out ! it is quite a ^ 
pleasure to see him. But I am so afraid that in doing it thus ' 
quickly he may get hurt.” 

44 No fear,” said Lotty, 44 otherwise I would not trouble him. 
But I have a mind to see how long a man, who calls himself a 
gentleman, will consider it necessary to obey a, woman’s will.” 

44 1 think you have tried Basil enough, Lotty ; this is the sixth 
time } r ou have made him get out.” 

44 Yes, it is of no use trying this experiment on him, for if I 
were to ask him six times more he would be just as ready. I 
think I will try my plan on one of the lazy Leighs — eh, my 
Queen?” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


95 


“ Then you will never get them to obey you,” said Margaret, 
laughing merrily, as if Lotty was in a joke. “ But go on now, 
Lotty, for Basil is up again.” 

They arrived at what appeared to be a ruined farmstead, 
nevertheless sounds came from within the half-roofed house : a 
few poor, miserable fowls were scattered about, with some 
gaunt pigs. 

| “ Desirable place that,” said Lotty, laconically ; “I was 
thinking of asking for a glass of water, for Bear and me. Do 
you think we shall get it here, Basil ? ” 

“ I will go and ask, little Lotty.” 

“ No, no, you will knock your brains out against the door. 
Margaret anct I will go, if you will hold the ponies.” 

“ I will accompany you with pleasure,” said Margaret, “ but 
I am sure no one can live there.” 

But it was inhabited. Sickly, miserable-looking children lay 
about the floor ; a hoarse but feeble voice came from a bed, in a 
corner of the room, as they entered, and a woman, with a face 
of woe arid starvation terrible to see, making Margaret quite 
shudder, rose before them. 

“ I came to ask for a glass of. water,” said Lotty. The woman 
sent a little child out with a jug. 

“ You seem ill,” said Margaret.* 

“ Yes, my lady, we are spent at last. After struggling all 
we could, the last misfortune is come on us : my husband is 
helpless with rheumatic fever.” 

“ But how happens it, that with all this appearance of having 
been a large dairy farm,” said Lotty, “you are in this plight?” 

The woman shook her head, and burst into tears. The man 
called out from his bed, “ It was a miserable hour, ma’am, 
when we came here. I was worth eight hundred pounds ere I 
took the farm, but see to what I have fallen, through the grasp- 
ing hand of my landlord and his agent ; they exacted the rent, 
which was high, to the farthing, but they did nothing that they 
promised. They gave me no help to drain my land, they let my 
barns fall, without giving me a stick to help them up ; and the 
cow-shed was blown down one night, killing three out of six 
cows. I struggled as well as I could, but there is a curse on 
this estate ; I am bound down by a lease, or I would have 
worked on the road to get away.” 

“Would your landlord do nothing for you?” said Lotty; 
•‘have you not told him of your condition?” 

“ I have told him myself, I have waited on him night and 


96 


MARGARET 


day. My wife went to see the lady, who seemed to be an angel 
by the goodness and gentleness in her face, but she had. a hard 
heart beneath. She listened with shut ears ; she did not seem to 
understand ; she said, 6 Sir Harold must not be disturbed, he 
was reading or sleeping ; ’ and we were starving.” 

Lotty was too generous, and much too fond of her Queen 
Margaret, to turn and look at her, as the man continued a tale 
of woe and hardship, that few believed could exist on England’s 
soil, but which may be the case under similar circumstances. 
Hard bargains of rent, strict exactions in demanding the same, 
are not so ruinous to a tenant as the want of his landlord’s help 
to keep his home clean and dry, his buildings in repair and neat- 
ness, his gates and fences in order and use, life fields drained 
and manured. When this is the case, let the tentant begrudge 
liis landlord no rent, but prove the value of his assistance by the 
punctuality of his payments. This is the true bond of union 
between landlord and tenant, and causes England to abound in 
estates, where the landlord lives as a king among those around 
him, while they bring up their sons and daughters - to love and 
honor the bountiful hand that helps them, the willing ear that 
listens. While the landlord, on his part, views with pride and 
delight generation after generation growing up upon his estates, 
farms passing from father tb son, the hereditary love with them : 
each strengthening the other, until they are pant and parcel 
together. 

As Margaret lifted the broken pitcher to her lips, the light 
fell upon her pale, agitated face. Lotty saw enough, while the 
woman exclaimed, “It is my lady herself, Lady Leigh ! ” In 
the confusion that ensued, Lotty escaped ; her warm, loving 
heart could not bear to see, what she knew must be there, the 
first awakening of Margaret from her quiet dream of bliss, pic- 
tured in the hitherto smiling face. 

“Ah! Basil, I fear we have succeeded too well! I would \ 
rather, — what would I not rather, than that she should have 
this bitter lesson ? I would rather see you married to Augusta, 
I think ! ” 

“ Come, Lotty, I do not see why I am to be so severely pun- 
ished for nothing.” 

“ You deserve some fright, Basil, for Augusta told me last 
night you had all but proposed to her ; and you know you must 
have given her some encouragement, she could not quite tell 
such a thing, you know.” 

“ It is against my principles, Lotty, to find fault with a lady *, 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


97 


but. in this instance I so utterly deny the imputation, that I 
really imagined the lady to be engaged to Philip Leigh.” 

“ What do you think of that man, Basil ? ” 

“ I like him so well, that I should be sorry to see him mar- 
ried to Augusta. Both he and Harold have every element of 
good in them, but both seem some how to have suffered a defect 
i, in their education.” 

“ Not so, Basil, they wanted early self-denial. There was 
no creed in their bringing up, that told them duty should guide 
their actions, even though no religious principles were given 
them.” 

“ Is this my little Lotty talking so wisely?” said Basil, turn- 
ing her face round to him, and looking into her eyes. 

u O, don’t! Basil,” said Lotty, “I am no school-girl now.” 

“ What wonderful eyes you have, Lottv ! they are like a deep 
well.” 

“ With truth at the bottom, I hope, Basil ; but to return to 
the Leighs. Margaret would have been different in other 
hands ; why did you let her escape you, Basil ? ” 

“ Hush ! Lotty, hush ! you show no wisdom in speaking thus 
jLo me of a married woman.” 

“ Then I will go and talk to Bear,” said Lotty, assuming her 
childish air. 

When Margaret appeared again, they neither of them looked 
at her ; Basil helped her in with kind assiduity, Lotty scolded 
Bear and ponies vehemently, and kept up afterwards a war of 
words with Basil. Again they came within sight of a ruined 
farm-house, with all its buildings in a more dilapidated condi- 
tion than the first. 

“ Stop,” said Margaret, the first word she had spoken ; Lotty 
drew her ponies up on their haunches. 

“ No one lives there, Margaret,” said she ; “ is it not so, 
ilTasil ? ” 

I I will go and see,” said he. 

u No,” said Margaret, “ I must go myself.” 

a Ah, Basil,” said Lotty, as she disappeared under the ruined 
door- way, u how her voice is changed. Have you been too hard 
upon her ? ” 

“ No, Lotty, with a disposition like Margaret’s, nothing but 
the life she has been lately leading will hurt her.” 

Margaret returned, her face brighter. No one lived there, 
but the ruin of everything was sad. 

In this way they passed many more homesteads, at all of 

9 


98 


MARGARET 


which Margaret, at her own request, got out and visited them, 
each wretched, miserable and forlorn. 

As they drove home, in a very different mood from that in 
which they started, nothing was said. Lotty did not even speak 
to the spirited ponies, or answer the wondering looks of her 
Bear. 

As Basil handed Margaret out of the carriage, she paused for 
a moment on the threshold of her house, and looking at them 
both with the soft, dark eyes, full of expressive meaning and 
affection, said gently, but clearly, “ Thank you both.” 

“ She is saved,” said Basil, giving Lotty an irresistible kiss 
of congratulation, as he lifted her from the carriage. 

“ Don’t, Basil ! you always forget I have left school.” 

Other eyes saw that kiss, two pair, one of which belonged to 
a heart that whispered to itself, “ I hate Lotty, and I will be 
revenged upon her some how.” 

The owner of the other pair said also to himself, “ All ! all ! 
my Lord Erlscourt, it is your turn now, but mine shall come.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

To all outward appearances Margaret seemed as serene as 
usual ; but to Lotty, Basil, and Millicent there was a change. 

“Where is Queen Meg?” asked Harold, one morning, with 
peevish vexation on his face. 

“0, dear me ! she has walked off, no one knows where,” 
replied Augusta, “ caring for no one.” 

“ Very tiresome,” said Harold, angrily ; “ she knows I wanted 
some letters written, and half a dozen other things.” 

“ Dear me, Sir Harold ! how can you expect a woman to be 
always running after her husband?” cried Augusta; “ I knew 
Margaret’s fit would not last long, as soon as she had old friends 
about her.” 

Harold’s face flushed. 

“ I should think,” said Lotty, looking up quietly from her 
book, u if you, Augusta, would give Harold the message Mar- 
garet left for him, you would spare him the trouble of putting 
himself into a rage.” 

“But, Lotty, it is so unlike Margaret to go away without 
telling me, or asking me,” said Harold. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


V# 

“ I presume, from t 1 e peculiarly amiable maimer in which 
you always beg not to b" teased with foolish questions, that she 
was obeying you in this instance.” 

“ I believe I am very cross sometimes ; but really the weather 
is so hot, and the flies so troublesome, no wonder one gets bored. 
But what is the message?” 

“It was given to Augusta.” 

“How do you know that?” said Augusta, angrily; “yon 
were not in the room.” 

“ I knew it from this : these are Harold’s letters, all written, 
sealed, and ready to go, with their copies beside them ; I am 
sure you were -told to inform him thereof, and beg him to see if 
they were correct. Then by Harold’s chair I see his little table, 
with his book, the two newspapers, his paper cutter, his foot- 
stool (as if you were some gouty old fellow, Harold) ; and all 
these show, that though some business might take Margaret 
away, Harold was not forgotten.” 

“ You are a good little soul, Lotty; I must say, and very 
sharp too.” So Harold seated himself lazily in his chair, con- 
tinuing, “ You can put all the copies into my drawer, Lotty, and 
ring the bell to send the letters oflf.” 

“ Very well,” said Lotty ; “ and if it won’t fatigue your 
highness too much, I will read you the copies ere I put them 
away.” 

“ Do, dear child,” said he, laughing at her quaint gravity. 

The Beauvillian visit was nearly ended. Philip tried every 
means in his power to gain an interview with Lotty alone : she 
was always in the midst of everybody ; if her father did not 
want her, she was by Margaret’s side ; and when Pru. and Pro. 
could possibly catch her, they hung by her with a tenacity that 
made Philip wish them both deposited in that remarkable sea 
which, we suppose from its sanguinary color, always comes 
uppermost in people’s minds on such occasions. 

Mr. Frank had passed from the excited state of courtship into 
a raging fever of haste and eagerness to be married ; and he 
was anxious to get home, to make preparations to receive his 
Georgina. 

Lady Katherine would have besought a delay of six months 
for propriety’s sake ! but the Beauvillian ardor and enthusiasm 
knocked down Lady Katherine’s arguments one after another, 
ike so many nine-pins, and threatened to carry the stately old 
iame herself quite off the balance of her propriety. 

“ Dear madam, let them marry,” said Mr. Beauvilliers ; 


1U0 


MARGARET 


•* why keep them waiting just lbr a little punctilio? you know 
royal marriages don’t take half so long to settle.” 

This master-stroke of his chieftain decided Mr. Frank’s hap- 
piness, and his fever somewhat abated under the influence of 
preparation : but as for departing without his charge, that was 
quite impossible. So the day was fixed, much to the sorrow of 
every one ; and only the day before did chance favor Philip. 

He had joined Lctty, Harold, and Basil, in a ride that Harold 
had been induced to take, to see a wood that required thinning. 
Harold was already beginning to feel the want of money ; and 
the prospect of having some wood to sell, that would ease his 
present care, spurred him to exert himself for once. 

Exhilarated by the exertion, and the feeling of doing some- 
thing, Harold agreed to go on a little farther ; but Lotty wished 
to return to her father’s early dinner. Philip offered to escort 
her home, with a sudden rush to his heart of tumultuous joy, 
while his outward appearance was calm as usual. 

They chatted very happily for some time. Lotty really liked 
Philip, lie was so amusing ; and she gave herself up to friendly 
and familiar conversation with him, as she would do with Basil. 

Receiving no answer to one of her sallies, she looked round 
and saw Philip with a face quite pale from internal emotion. 
He was thinking at the moment that his fate depended upon 
the answer he meant to make her give him ere the ride was 
over ; and the possibility that she might refuse him blanched his 
cheek. 

“Anything the matter, Philip?” said she. His Christian 
name passed her lips as much from surprise to see his agitation, 
as from a sort, of habit she had of becoming familiar with every- 
body she liked. 

“Lotty, Lotty, I love you,” said Philip, “ I love you to mad- 
ness. O ! Lotty, will you be mine ? ” 

She reined up her horse full short. The clear, brilliant eyes 
looked full at him in astonishment, then, as if unable to bear the 
burning love expressed in his, so unlike their usual expression, 
she wheeled her horse suddenly round. With a smart touch of 
her whip he bounded oyer the fence by the road-side,' and shak- 
ing his head with indignation, he fled in a mad gallop across a 
heavy ploughed field. They were over the next hedge ere Philip 
gained his senses. 

“ Wilful, wicked little thing ! ” he passionately exclaimed, 
plunging his spurs into his horse’s sides, and following her ; 
“ I will make her hear me ; I will have an answer.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAID*. 


101 


Though Lotty never looked back, she seemed to know she 
was being pursued ; for the next glimpse lie had of her, she was 
bending over, examining the girths of her saddle. He could 
see her, gathering up the folds of her habit, and setting her 
slight figure firmly in her seat; then, with a clear, ringing 
chirrup to her horse, away they bounded, as if on a race for 
life and death. 

Philip followed, his brows knit, his teeth set, determination 
even in the waves of his hair, while he muttered to himself, 
“ there is the brook, beyond the long meadow ; I shall catch 
her there.” As he thinks this, again lie hears the clear voice 
cheering her horse. They are over the brook, and are breasting 
the steep bank on the other side. He could almost hear the 
little hand patting the good steed who boie her so gallantly, and 
he felt half mad with vexation and admiration, as he watched 
the little graceful figure bending so lightly forward to ease her 
horse up the nearly perpendicular bank. They are gone over 
the top, and Lotty might almost have heard the wind bringing 
the words, “ Wilful, wicked little thing! ” 

As Philip reached the head of the bank, he saw the object of 
his pursuit far away, three fields off. A sudden pang of fear 
sent every other feeling from his heart. 

“ The quarry, ah ! the quarry, she will not know of it. My 
voice is useless at this distance ; she will think too that I but 
mean to frighten her. Ah ! that lovely, exquisite, wilful being, 
is she to meet such a horrible fate ? ” 

Philip spurred wildly on, shouting, though he knew it useless. 
As he looked, he saw the wild gallop restrained, the obedient 
steed was changing his stride into a quiet canter. 

u Ah, she knows it! how could I doubt her seuse and judg- 
ment ? she sees some sign of unknown danger. Now, now then 
I have her, now will I make her answer me.” 

He did not see, as she bent low on her saddle, the furtive 
glances she was casting behind. As he dashed over the last 
fence with a wild cry of triumph, she stood still, as if waiting 
for his approach ; but as his horse struck into his full swing 
gallop, she suddenly wheeled round, and passing within ten 
yards of him, bounded over the last hedge, which took her into 
a lane ; ere Philip could pull up his half-mad steed, he saw her 
far away up the winding lane without the possibility of being- 
overtaken, for she was leisurely cantering along, he was almost 
sure, switching the hedge-rows as she passed, and singing in the 
low, happy tone she was wont to do, in her childish moods. 

9 * 


102 


AIARGARET 


The air might have borne on its viewless, but not voiceless, 
bosom sundry exclamations, the reverse of good or proper, until 
the heavy brow unknit ; a happy thought had occurred. 

“ I will turn and go in by the lower lodge. If I spare not my 
horse, I shall be there before her ; and as she emerges from the 
upper lodge, I shall catch her at the angle of the roads. Speak 
to her I will, and make her answer me, as the heaven is above 
us.” 

He was in time ; Lotty was cantering quietly up to the junc- 
tion of the roads. “Now she is mine.” He thought it too soon ; 
as she caught sight of him, she turned her horse’s head in the 
direction of the walnut avenue. 

“Where can she be going now? for that only leads to the 
flower-garden with the ha-ha before it, and the rabbit fence.” 
He followed. “ Heavens ! she is not so mad as to think of 
jumping the ha-ha. I hear her speaking to her horse ; she 
gathers up her habit, she is shaking the reins. Stay, Lotty, 
stay, it will be your death ! ” 

A ringing, mocking, last cheer to her horse sounds in his ear, 
and Lotty is over, plunging about mid the flower-beds. He 
lashes his steed, determined to follow ; but the wise animal 
swerves aside, and as he turns him around for another trial, ho 
sees the “ little, wild, wicked thing ” dismounting from her 
horse ; and giving it a parting switch of her whip, as a hint 
to take himself off* as best he may, she disappears through the 
wide open window. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Philip was down betimes for dinner, a flush on his usually 
pale cheeks, a fire in his generally quiet eye. He was deter- 
mined to see how she would look on their meeting. 

Lotty and her father were almost the last to appear ; she, in 
her little white silk dress, with the cluster of fresh roses, so like 
herself, her only ornament. The rich hair was parted in its 
usual waving lines, the brilliant eyes looked round as clear and 
happy as ever : the pretty, fresh, innocent face, and the large 
loving hand on that shoulder, which showed a fresh dimple, 
with every movement ; no change in Lotty. But her appear- 
ance was greeted by several voices, among which Augusta’# 
was loudest. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


103 


“ You arc more of a bear than ever, you mad child ; how could 
you ruin Margaret’s garden in such a thoughtless manner?” 

“ Nay,” said Margaret, “ Lotty is privileged ; she can do no 
wrong to Margaret.” 

u What on earth were you doing, you two? riding a race? ” 
continued Augusta. 

“ It looked like it, did it not?” returned Lotty, quietly. 

u Ah ! Mr. Leigh, I am afraid you have been indulging my 
pet in her favorite amusement — a ride across the country ; 
once set her off, nothing stops her,” said Mr. Beauvilliers. 

“ I fully believe you, sir,” muttered Philip, looking straight 
at Lotty. 

A furtive smile of mischief played round her mouth, for which 
he felt inclined to punish her by making her hear his proposals 
then and there, before all the company. 

“ Indeed, Mr. Leigh,” cried Augusta, u you really should be 
careful how you follow that wild thing. I saw, from my win- 
dow, what a narrow escape you had, and thought I should have 
died on the spot.” 

“Very kind of you, indeed, Augusta,” said Lotty; “Mr. 
Leigh seems too grateful to be able to express his feelings.” 

“ But, my Lotty, you seem to me to have been rasn,” said 
her father. 

“And would you have had me lose the race, father?” pleaded 
Lotty. 

“ Then it was a race?” asked Augusta, turning to Philip. 

“ Miss Beauviliier3 said it was a race,” replied Philip ; “ I 
did not.” 

“You little fibbing bear, come here directly, and tell me what 
made you ride in that mad manner?” 

“ When you see danger, don’t you always run, Augusta?” 

“ Yes, of course, child ; but how could you be in any danger 
with Mr. Leigh near you ? ” 

“ I was, I assure you ; and as dinner is announced, I will 
give him leave to tell you all about it.” 

Lotty could hear Augusta from her end of the table endeavor- 
ing to extract something out of the now morose Philip, with no 
success. 

Lotty always sat by hei father at dinner, as his aged fingers, 
stiffened with rheumatic gout, were nearly useless. W ith Queen 
Margaret on one side, and her father on the other, no wonder 
Lotty looked happy and bright, and scores of times made Philip 
wish himself at home, out of reach of seeing or hearing her. 


104 


MARGARET 


In consequence of this being the last evening, Harold left the 
dining-room sooner than usual ; and knowing that some hearts 
were sad at to-morrow’s parting, he chimed in very agreeably to 
Basil’s proposal for some music and dancing. 

“ Come now, Queen Meg., give me some of your sweet songs 
first,” said Harold ; “ it is ten days or more since you have sung 
me to sleep with your low, half-melancholy murmurings ; and 
you know how T like them.” 

“ But I do not,” said Margaret, in her soft, but clear tones. 
4i People that have everything they want, and have nothing to 
be melancholy about, should have heart-stirring, lively music, 
such as this is.” And Margaret broke out into that brilliant 
gallop, the “ Spirit of the Ball.” 

Basil threw his arms round Lotty’s little waist, and was flying 
with her on the wings of the wind. Mr. Frank was whirling 
Pro. along with irresistible Beauvillian force, though she had not 
an idea of the step. Mr. Walter Beauvilliers offered his arm 
politely to Pru., who looked helplessly at her mother, who 
benignly said, — “Go, my dear.” Lady Katherine was break- 
ing out into quite a jovial old dame, and seemed so inspired, that 
her head, fan, hands, and feet, were all in a quiver of movement, 
as if trying to be off themselves : in fact, her whole appearance 
seemed so enthusiastic, that had old Mr. Beauvilliers a leg to 
stand upon, he felt he must certainly have asked her to get up 
and dance with him. And I have no doubt the old lady would 
have danced quite as well as her daughters. Philip, for a 
moment, .stood with a thunder-cloud on his brow ; he had seen 
an unmistakable look of intelligence pass between Basil and 
Lot tv, as Margaret had answered her husband — a look of tri- 
umph and heartfelt delight. What could it mean ? But Augusta 
looked appealingly at him ; he offered his arm, and with his heart 
full of secret anger and disgust, he bore along his fragile and 
rather languid partner. 

Harold apologized for not asking Millicent to dance, by saying 
he was afraid it would over-fatigue her. But Millicent would 
accept nothing but his arm, and bore him off. And now as they 
flew round the room, Lotty and Basil exchanged smiling looks 
with Queen Meg., the two Mr. Beauvillians bore their stumbling, 
blundering, breathless little partners round in a manner only 
Beauvillians could do, while Margaret followed her husband and 
Millicent with loving eyes. Then the gallop changed into the 
swimming, graceful waltz. Even Harold began with alacrity to 
dance to the Prima Donna. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


105 


“ Charming to see young people so enjoy themselves, Madam,” 
said Mr. Beauvilliers. 

“ I see no harm, 1 must say,” said Lady Katherine, in a little 
liveliness ; “ we now and then got up a little dance at court, and 
then we would sit in a row, his gracious Majesty in the middle, 
with her gracious Majesty beside him, and the young Princesses 
would perform a minuet — the minuet de la cour, which speaks 
for itself, Mr. Beauvilliers.” 

“ It does, Madam,” said the old gentleman, in his most polite 
manner. u My dear brother,” continued he, to Mr. Robert 
Beauvilliers, u do you observe her?” 

“ I do, brother,” said Mr. Robert ; “ she is like a bird, a 
feather, a flake of snow.” 

“ She has a pretty flush,” continued the father. 

“ Lovely ! my dear brother ; I was at that moment thinking I 
had never seen her look so well.” 

All being now breathless, and done up as it were, the music 
suddenly stopped. Harold sunk exhausted, but in a fine flow of 
spirits, into a seat. Lotty had, some how, sprung from one step 
in the waltz to her father’s chair. The two Miss Leighs were 
led, staggering and giddy, with their hair in such confusion 
as no one had ever seen it before, to their honored mother, who 
might have remonstrated, had she known in what possible words 
to do it. Such a thing as dishevelled hair was not known at 
court. 

Then began Margaret the spirited song of “ The Old Hound,” 
which she sang with such gusto, that the chorus was taken up on 
all sides ; and when the view halloo was to be given, it was done 
by every man in the room to his heart’s content, accompanied 
with a little shriek of surprise from Lady Katherine. She had 
never heard such a sound before, and thought the walls were 
coming down ; she grew grave, and observed to Margaret, that 
it was a pretty air certainly, but surely the words were vulgar — 
that is, not meant for such society ; she had never heard of sue 
a song at court. 

Whereupon, smiling, Margaret said she would sing her one 
more ladylike, and calliug on Augusta to join, they sang “ The 
Elfin Call.” Then two Mr. Beauvillians sang a duet, a fine, 
jovial song. Then they danced again ; and Philip asked Lotty, 
and hearing that she was engaged to Harold, wished himself 
hanged, or at the deuce, privately ; which it was, matters little, 
•as he evidently did not mean what he thought. 

Id the midst of all this 1 -laritv. the pompous, gray-headed old 


MARGARET 


106 

butler announced, in his usually grand way, “ Lady Katherine’s 
chair ; the Miss Leighs’s chair.” 

“ What ! already ?” exclaimed Harold, in amazement. 

Lady Katherine adhered to the good old fashion of sedan 
chairs. But they had their inconveniences ; for though she 
might squeeze one daughter in with her, she could not two ; and 
as, even in her son’s house, she could not leave them behind, 
while the chair took her the hundred yards she had to go, she 
was under the necessity of having a chair for herself and one 
for the Miss Leighs. To be sure, after Mr. Frank’s proposal 
and acceptance, her chair might have traversed the hundred 
yards a hundred times before the other chair followed. 

There was such wrapping up of Miss Georgina, such a num- 
ber of adieu;, so many last words to be spoken, so many 
important things to be said, which had been quite forgotten until 
that minute ; so many charges to Miss Leigh to take care 
of Miss Georgina. All these things took up time, and yet, not- 
withstanding all this care and all these charges, before Miss 
Georgina had time to say, u How polite and attentive he is ! ” and 
Miss Leigh to respond back in equally laudatory terms, as they 
trotted along, they have arrived, and lo ! there was Mr. Frank 
at the door, ready to help them out. 

And though this little amiable scene took place upon an aver- 
age five nights out of every seven, still Miss Georgina was 
always so surprised to see him, and still Mr. Frank would say, 
w I could not have rested, dearest Georgina, and not known that 
you were safe under j our mother’s roof.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Lotty Avas gone, and Philip was left behind, and nothing came 
uf all that he vowed to himself should come, so Philip shut him- 
self up. 

There was copious and abundant weeping on the departure of 
the Beauvilliers ; Georgina, of course, cried enough for ten, 
though lovingly assured by Mr. Frank, he would barely eat, 
drink, or sleep until he saw her again. Pru. was too sisterly not 
to join her. Though Lotty might have a tear in her eye when 
she bade adieu to Queen Margaret, she was verv unsvmnathetio 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


107 


in parting with the others. Told Pro. not to cry her eyes out 
ere she saw her again, as it would probably be inconvenient to 
Mr. Frank to have a blind wife ; recommended Pru. to take les- 
sons from Millicent, in the proper duties of a clergyman’s wife, 
which remark threatened to leave a permanent blush on poor 
Pru.’s nose. She told Millicent, that, good people being scarce, 
she hoped to see her taking more care of herself when they met 
again ; also, hoped gravely, that Gerald would be nearer perfec- 
tion, to which Gerald as gravely responded in the same wish. 
And then whispering a parting piece of advice to Augusta, not 
to outstay her welcome, Lotty took the little small nook that was 
left for her in the carriage among her father’s cushions. One 
Mr. Beauvillier3 inside with them, two Mr. Beauvilliers outside, 
with the two servants, and Bear the Great. 

As long a3 the carriage was in sight, hats were flourished and 
handkerchiefs waved. Then, in a parting burst of grief, Geor- 
gina sunk on the faithful Charlotte’s shoulder, and was consider- 
ately led to her couch. All of which was deemed by Lady 
Katheriue truly correct and proper, and very courtly. 

“ Harold, will you ride with me to-day?” said Basil, after 
they were gone ; my time is so short here now, that while 
Gerald is occupied in parophial matters, I am fain to palm 
myself off on you for amusement.” 

Harold had just lifted up one of his beloved French novels, 
intending to ensconce himself in his easy chair. His unwonted 
exertions of the evening before had really made him rather stiff; 
but he was much too partial to Lord Erlscourt to refuse. “ My 
dear fellow ! with pleasure. I dare say the ride will take off 
my ache3, too; though, unless I had the inducement of your 
company, I don’t think I should stir.” 

u Ha ! ” said Harold, as they passed the same farm-house 
where Lotty had asked for water, u what are they doing here ? 
They seem to be repairing the place. High time, too, idle, lazy 
rascals ! ” 

“ This is a wonderfully rich country,” said Lord Erlscourt. 

“ 1 believe it is,” returned Harold ; “ but the worst for 
tenants in the world. I cannot get any, and when I have them 
they won’t pay, or they run away.” 

“ What sort of steward have you?” 

“ O, a rascal, like the rest of them ! There really is nc 
honesty about this place, and I am sick of it.” 

It is a lovely country,” said Basil. 

u I allow it is, and I believe I should be fond of it if I were 


103 


MARGARET 


not so harassed and teased. Lying on the grass among the 
flowers, looking at the fine old trees, from them to the gray, 
picturesque old house, . with Margaret running about after her 
boy, I have often thought few could have a home so beautiful.” 

“ I don’t quite know,” said Basil, smiling, “ what harasses 
you ? ” 

“ Why, you know, when 1 left you, I intended profiting by 
your example, and looking after my affairs. My dear fellow, 
whether from design or not, Price, my agent, complicated the* 
simplest matters to such a degree, that I grew quite sick of 
them. Then, the moment it was known that I was investigating 
matters, such a host of complaining tenants came about me, 1 
was nearly mobbed ; I had no peace night or day. Their 
demands were exorbitant, and their wants so many, that at last 
I gave up the whole thing in disgust ; and as they one and all 
complained of Price, I thought the best way was to hand them 
all over to him, and they would be sick of complaining.” 

“ Do you suppose he will act conscientiously by them?” said 
Basil. 

“ I neither know nor care ; my rent-roll is £7000 a year, and 
he must find it ; and as long as he does, I don’t think I need 
trouble myself.” 

As he spoke, the tall figure of the rector appeared in sight. 
He advanced to meet them, gloAving with health and apparent 
satisfaction. “ My dear Sir Harold,” said he, taking his hand 
with great eagerness, u allow me to congratulate you. Suffer 
me to say how delighted I am.” 

“At what?” said Harold, coldly; for, like all persons whose 
consciences will make themselves heard sometimes, he was only 
the more pertinacious in refusing advice. And like one angry 
dog meeting another, the meetings of Sir Harold and Gerald 
Herbert raised within the breast of each an instant spirit of 
opposition, as the dogs’ pugnacious feelings raised their bristles. 

“ The Wilcoxes, Sir Harold ; those poor creatures about 
whom I have spoken to you so often.” 

“ I know nothing about them,” said Harold, the bristles of his 
mind beginning to rise. 

“Why, my dear fellow,” said the warm-hearted, ‘ energetic 
rector, “ you are repairing their place, you are roofing their 
barns, you have lent them money to commence life anew, and 
I honor you for it. I love you for rousing yourself at last, 
shaking off the dull, apathetic sloth that inthralled you like a 
coil of nets.” 


AND JrfKIi BWDHSMAJDS. 


109 


a I know nothing of what you are speaking about, and I'll 
thank you not to dictate a line of conduct to me,” said Harold, 
interrupting him, with every bristle in a perpendicular state. 

Had Gerald said, coldly and deprecatirigly, “ How foolish you 
are to repair that old place !” Harold was of that disposition, he 
would have ordered it to be done at any cost. 

Now the well-meaning, but injudicious Mr. Herbert had raised 
a hornet’s nest about him, and without in the least knowing how 
he could have offended, he yet was obliged to see Sir Harold 
ride off in a high state of wrath and indignation. 

“ Your brother-in-law is a fool,” said he, at last, to Lord 
Erlscourt. 

“ He is injudicious, but no fool,” said Basil. 

“ Did you hear all that rigmarole about apathy and sloth?” 

“ He is so active himself that he does not understand your 
dolce far niente character.” 

“ I wish his activity would not lead him to meddle with me 
and my affairs ; I wonder who has ordered the Wilcoxes’ place 
to be repaired. That was it we passed just now, with the work- 
men about.” 

“ It seemed to want it,” said Basil, carelessly. 

“ I have no doubt it wanted it, and so does everything under 
that rascal Price’s care ; but I won’t be dictated to by Herbert. 
I shall find out who ordered those repairs, and have them 
stopped.” 

Basil began talking of his intention to have a yacht in the 
ensuing summer. “ In bringing up boys,” said he, “ I fancy it 
a good thing to let them see a little of everything. My half- 
brothers are fine fellows, but have a good deal of rather wild 
blood in them. I mean, therefore, to try the experiment of 
always keeping their active frames, and still more active minds, 
in constant exercise.” 

In this sort of conversation Basil so beguiled the time, that 
Harold became cool, and talked of having a vaeht himself, with 
evident interest. 

On the two ladies, Margaret and Augusta, retiring after din- 
ner, Harold began instantly to exclaim — (Basil had seen that 
something had occurred to disturb the smooth temper with 
which they parted before dinner) — “ Do you know it is Mar- 
garet who ordered those repairs at the Wilcoxes. I have no 
doubt that fellow Herbert set her on.” 

u I think he would not have greeted you in the manner he 
did if he thought it had been Lady Leigh’* act.” 


110 


MARGARET 


“ True, he did seem surprised, and also never mentioned 
Margaret’s name. Erlscourt, I had a scene with Margaret, the 
first since we married. I did not know women could be so 
obstinate. But, however, I won’t give in ; I said the Wilcoxes’ 
place should not be repaired, and it shall not.” 

“ I do not think Margaret is obstinate ; I have known her 
from a child,” said Basil. 

“ So you did, and, by-the-by, I often wondered you never fell 
in love with her, Erlscourt. I did so with only looking at her, 
much less speaking to her.” 

“ I did,” said Basil, in a low voice. 

“ IIow ! what?” returned Harold, rousing himself. 

u From the time I was ten years old, until I was two-and- 
twenty, I loved your Margaret ; loved her, not with a boy’s 
affection, not with a youth’s fancy, but as a man, who gives his 
heart unto the Eve of his Paradise, and sees no other woman, 
knows no other love, feels nothing but that he would be her 
Adam.” 

“ This to me, her husband?” 

“ This to you, her husband. Now listen ; from the time when, 
a little feeble boy, I ran twelve miles through the forest paths, 
more intent upon rescuing my sister from cruel treatment, than 
any fate that might occur to me. I recall that painful, weary 
journey, with pleasure — it introduced me to Margaret. The 
sorrows and hardships of my early years I learned to bless ; they 
paved the way to my meeting Margaret. I watched her as she 
grew, month by month, year by year, gentle in spirit, but 
strong in love, pliant in small things, firm in affection. I grew 
impatient to take possession of this opening flower, and fearing 
that I could not control myself, I went abroad to pass the time, 
until her school-girl days were over. You came and gathered 
my cherished woodland flower.” 

“ Dear Basil, I pity you. Had I but known, — no, I can say 
nothing ; I feel I could not have given her up. My dear Basil, 
on my soul, I pity you ! ” And he held out his hand, his heart 
beating with emotion. 

Basil grasped it cordially, continuing, “ I knew her nature 
so well, that once her young heart was given, it was given for- 
ever.” 

44 1 believe it,” exclaimed Harold, as the image of the fair 
young bride rose before his view, casting on him that one look 
of love and gratitude. 

u So I gave myself for a task, the purifying my heart of love 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


Ill 


for her, go that it might be such as it ought, for the wife of 
another man. And you will not credit my first confidence, if 
you believe not the second ; my love for Margaret is as that of a 
fond brother.” 

“ I cannot but believe you, Basil, and I thank you for your 
confidence. I think you have a motive in it — tell it me.” 

u You think Margaret but a loving, rather simple girl ! ” 

“ She is loving, and, as you say, I think her more loving than 
wise.” 

“ Then you must believe the word of a man, who so loved her 
before you ever £aw her, that the innermost chamber of his heart 
seem3 shut forever. She is more, much more.” 

“ I shall think with pride, Basil, of the love she gained in so 
noble a heart, even from a child.” 

“ Then the object of my confidence is gained. Trust her, 
you will never repent it ; consult her, you will have the advice 
of a devoted hsart and clear head. Let her be your helpmeet 
indeed, and not the pretty, pleasant companion of your own 
hours of pastime. Before you both are set other tasks to do.” 

“ I understand you. But, Basil, tell me this : is it true ihat 
your heart is closed against all love?”' 

“No, Harold,” said Basil, smiling cheerfully; “against none. 
In my short life I have seen enough to know that protestations 
do not become weak man. Depend upon it, the more vehement 
and public his proclamation that his determination is fixed, and 
his will, like the ancient laws of Medes and Persians, unalter' 
able, then heaven and earth, man and beast, everything and 
nothing, seem in a league together to make him eat his words.” 

“ You never said anything more true ; I am a living instance 
of it this day. For now you shall see if your lesson is thrown 
away, or your confidence misplaced. Queen Margaret,” said 
he, opening the drawing-room door, “ tell that rascal, Price, to 
hurry on with AVilcox’s place, and get it finished immediately.” 

Margaret’s eyes looked up, with that one never-forgotten 
look ; but she only said, “ Thank you, Harold.” 

“ You are quite right, Basil,” whispered lie, “ she is remark- 
ably sensible ; now, if she had gone off into heroics, and teased 
me with ecstasies, I, perhaps, should have changed my mind 
again. You saw that look ! Humph, well ! is not that worth 
something? Ah ! my dear Basil, I forgot.” 

“ Pray don’t apologize,” said Basil, laughing heartily at 
Harold’s change of countenance from the exulting to the com- 
miserating ; “I will go and liavo a little flirtation with Miss 
Glare,” 


112 


MABtJABET 


ffarold was well content, and seated himself' near his Mar- 
garet, saying quietly, “ Pretty, striking-looking girl ! but a poor 
compliment to pay Margaret, if he does choose her after all.” 

Basil had estimated Harold’s character very justly. At pres- 
ent he was only valuing his wife according to the appreciation 
of others : she was the* best, sweetest, dearest wife in the world, 
but nothing more. Now he looked at her to-night with, as it 
were, new eyes, penetrating and observant. 

Augusta really needed a little consolation. Sorely in her 
heart dwelt Lotty’s last words, inasmuch as she was quite aware 
that her conduct had been such as to make the hint desirable. 
That she must flirt was necessary to her existence* — that is, she 
thought so. But in one or two instances, she had gone to such 
great lengths, that, spite of her beauty and elegant carriage, 
Lady Katherine had much ado to restrain the indignant feelings 
roused by her quondam favorite. It was not so much with 
Philip and Lord Erlscourt ; but if they were not within reach, 
she planted herself by the side of the not always conscious 
Harold, and disported herself at his expense. Once or twice 
Lotty had made some sarcastic remarks, which only drew from 
Augusta the words, “ Margaret does not care ; what business is 
it of yours?” Augusta had, beside, the uncomfortable feeling 
of knowing that Lord Erlscourt was quite indifferent to her 
charms and manners ; and she more than half suspected that 
Philip Leigh had abated of his loyalty. And while she tried to 
pooh-pooh the idea, that the odious little Bear had lured him 
from his allegiance, it would force itself into notice, try all she 
could. u Not outstay my welcome, indeed ! I will stay until I 
have secured Philip Leigh, if it is only to spite that child, who, 
I believe, thinks he is in love with her.” What means she used, 
history saith not ;• but that she met Philip most days, both Mar- 
garet and Millicent knew. And they were daily expecting the 
announcement of an engagement between them, when Margaret 
was summoned to her father’s dying bed. 

In haste and sorrow the party at Court Leigh broke up. Mil- 
licent and Gerald were left alone ; for Lady Katherine had 
deemed it proper to have Pro.’s marriage celebrated in London. 
And the time drew near. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


113 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Axt excitement that Philip had been undergoing through 
Augusta’s instrumentality, was now gone, leaving a dull blank 
behind. Moody, irritable, and murmuring, the image of the 
little, wild, wicked thing forever haunted him. 

* k I will go,” said he at last ,. 44 and demand her hand formally 
of her father — anything is better than this horrid state of 
uncertainty. If I am refused — I am refused; but I will be 
revenged.” 

Philip went, and was received at Beau-court in a truly hospi- 
table manner. lie was a Leigh, cousin to those Leighs who had 
entertained their chieftain, their girl, and their kinsmen so hos- 
pitably. It behooved the Beauvillians to show theirs in return 
to so honored a guest. Philip’s better nature expanded under 
the frank, jovial hands of this hospitable tribe. Not a Beauvil- 
lian but asked him to dine, sleep, sup, live with him ; and when, 
after three weeks’ sojourn among them, any one had asked their 
opiuiou of Philip Leigh, every Beauvillian, from his heart, 
would have exclaimed, 44 He is a right good fellow.” But a 
deep silence fell on the whole tribe, when Philip publicly and 
formally demanded the hand of their girl. They were like bees 
just learning that their queen was gone, and then, like bees, 
rushed into a frantic commotion. Not even her birth created a 
greater sensation. 

u Our girl is asked in marriage,” said one to the other when 
they met. 

‘ 4 A right worthy fellow,” says the other, back again. 

44 She is young,” says one. 

44 To be asked in marriage,” says the other. 

44 But she is so sensible,” says one. 

44 Yes, wonderful,” says the other. 

44 Will she have him?” says one. 

44 She won’t leave her father,” says the other. 

4 * I knew it,” said both. 

At Beau-court a full conclave was held ; Philip in the midst, 
opposite Mr. Beauvilliers. 44 We duly appreciate your offer — 
we respect you, Mr. Leigh ; but my little child, my pretty Lottv 
— I have not long to live, and I could not live that short time 
without her.” Thus said Mr. Beauvilliers, and all his kinsmen 
10 *. 


114 


MARGARET 


echoed his words — “ The child must not be separated from her 
father.” 

“ Never ! O, never ! ” said Philip, earnestly ; u I will wait, 
wait months, years. I will leave my home altogether, and live 
only amongst you, if I may but hope.” 

u Very handsome proposal — very generous. How he loves 
her ! Excellent young man ! he deserves her.” Thus exclaimed 
the Beauvillians, while the aged father clasped Philip’s hand, 
and said, “ Sir, that removes my difficulty. I own that I would 
wish to take to her mother the assurance that her little daughter 
was happy in the affections of a fond husband, as she herself 
Was. I own that I should like to know my little one’s likely lot, 
ere I leave her. Now it seems to me, sir, that I would rather 
give her to you than any one that I know ; for you bear the 
name of Leigh, the name she likes so much ; you live near the 
being whom she loves next to her father. If, sir, you can gain 
her affections, and if you will dwell here, with me, at Beau- 
court, until I receive my last summons, take her, and, with her, 
my heartfelt, soul-breathed prayers for you both.” 

Philip kissed the old man’s hand with deep emotion, and good 
and noble thoughts filled his soul, reflecting themselves through 
liis eyes, so as to make the good Beauvillians think, as they 
gazed upon him, “ he is worthy of our girl.” 

So she was sent for, innocent little victim, to give her answer 
before the scrutinizing eyes of her loving kinsmen. 

She entered the room in her simple white frock, her large hat 
full of autumn roses, her great Bear by her side. She took her 
seat in an unconcerned and simple manner, on her usual place, 
her father’s chair. 

u My little Lotty, you know that Mr. Philip demands your 
hand in marriage.” 

“ Yes, father,” said Lotty, throwing a rose at the big Bear. 

“ We consent to the marriage, if you do, dearest one.” 

“ I do not mean to marry,” said Lotty. 

“ I know, my pet, you will not leave me. But Mr. Leigh will 
quit his own home, and settle among us, while I remain with 
my Lotty on earth ; then I shall know when I am gone that she 
is in the care of a kind husband.” 

“ I am too young to marry,” again said Lotty. 

u Young in years, my darling, yet old in thought and wisdom. 
But your fond old father would like to know that you had a 
home of your own, though I know full well every home amongst 
us is open to you.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


115 


“It is, it is — we should be proud — all we have — nothing 
should we delight in so much, as to give a home to our girl.” 

It was some time ere order could be restored ; the vehemence 
with which every Beauvillian spoke from his heart was very 
nearly ending in a scene ; for Bear began to fancy some one was 
about to hurt his little mistress. 

However, order being restored, again Mr. Beauvilliers spoke : 
*• Mr. Leigh seems in every way worthy of my Lotty, though 
perhaps we don’t think any one can be quite. Then, when time 
carries you to your new home, you will live near your beloved 
school-fellow, Lady Leigh.” 

For the first time Lotty looked up, as if listening. u Don’t 
you think, father, I am very young to marry?” 

“ You are, my child, and I should not urge it, but for the 
reasons I have mentioned before. I should wish to see you 
married ere I die.” 

“ Do you wish me to marry Philip Leigh, father?” 

u If you can love him, yes, my child.” 

Lotty lifted up those matchless, radiant eyes, and looked at 
Philip. He returned her glance, with the feelings so lately men- 
tioned glowing from his eyes. “ I will try, father, if you wish 
it.” * 

Philip fell on one knee, and kissed the little hand half held out 
to him. “I desire no more — I will ask no more,” he said. 
“ Deeply do I thank you for the permission you have given me.” 

As the Beauvillians afterwards declared to each other, “ The 
scene was beautiful ; the young man behaved in the most noble, 

charming manner ; and as for their girl ” But such ecstat- 

ics can only be tolerated among the Beauvillians themselves. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Margaret arrived in time to see her father alive, receive his 
blessing, and watch his aged eyes linger proudly on the features 
of her noble boy. Then, with his hand clasped within that of his 
wife, he said, “ I think, Anne, we did well to let our Margaret 
marry,” and so fell asleep, with the happy smile of content on 
his lips. A few words, only audible to that fond and faithful 
ear, “ I feel at peace with God and man,” were uttered by those 


116 


MARGARET 


feeble lips, and then they spoke no more. From sleep he passed 
into his immortal life. 

Margaret and her mother mourned together, and the kind, 
ever-ready Basil took charge of Harold. It needed little on his 
part to increase Harold’s esteem and affection for him. 

At no moment of the day was Lord Erlscourt unemployed ; 
arid, as he seemed to count upon Harold’s help and assistance in 
all he did, the latter found himself become unaccountably a 
man of business. 

My dear fellow,” would Basil say, “ you will help me 
amazingly if you would continue marking that plantation for me 
that we began yesterday. ' I have to be off twelve miles in 
a different direction to attend a county court.” 

So Harold would blaze away at the trees half the day, and* 
get quite excited about the number. 

Perhaps Basil would say, “ Here is rather a difficult case to 
settle between the keepers and some wood stealers ; will you, 
Leigh, kindly hear the matter over for me? They generally 
imagine I am interested.” 

So Harold would call forth his best judgment, and really 
looked like a pleased school-boy when Basil remarked, “ How 
quick you are, Harold, at judging character.” 

Sometimes they would visit buildings under repair, so that 
during the month of Margaret’s seclusion, rarely did Harold re- 
turn to her, after a hard day’s work with Basil, but in happier, 
healthier, more genial glow than when he left. And Margaret 
blessed Basil in her heart. 

One day she said to Harold, u My kind father has left me 
fifteen thousand pounds ; will you, dear Harold, take it, and use 
it to put our estate in some such order as this is?” 

“ I don’t think we can do it, Queen Meg. The people there 
are so different from here. They are not grateful.” 

“ They are very grateful, but they have never had cause to 
show gratitude to us.” 

u Well, Meg, I will think about it. Some how, I fancy 
nothing good at Court Leigh.” 

u Dear Harold, our home, the birthplace of our boy ! ” 

u All very true ; but there must be something obstinate and 
aggravating in the air.” 

Margaret laughed, and said, “O! if you are joking, I shall 
say no more ; but I will spend my money as I choose.” 

u Ah ! I see you find Hampshire. air just. as bad for your con- 
stitution as T do Cheshire. But listen, wife. I am about to 

7 


AN!) HRIt BfifDKSMAiPH. 


117 


leave you for a few days ; Basil is going to Cowes, to see after a 
yacht he fancies, and if I see one f like, I shall buy it also. You 
won’t fear letting me away from your apron-strings, with such a 
nurse as Basil to look after your big baby.” 

“ No, no ! ” said Margaret ; “ but you will write often? ” 

u Every hour, I suppose,” said Harold. 

“ I should like that ; but I will let you off, and ask for a 
letter only every other day,” returned Margaret. 

“ We are also going to make an excursion to see his boys, 
as he calls them. If they have been good, they are to go with 
us to see the yacht, it being principally for their amusement that 
he buys one.” 

“ How good Basil is.” 

u Extraordinary, Queen Meg ; and I have generally a horror 
of such sorts of kine ; they seem to be a perpetual species of 
blister or reproach. But Basil is so fearless and. independent, so 
daring, if I may use the word. He is first in all the night- 
watches we have been lately having, and does all those sorts of 
manly things ; yet he is as kind-hearted, tender, and good as a 
woman — a^ you, Margaret.” 

“ I hope he is rather more firm in character than I am. But 
when do you go ? ” 

“ To-morrow.” 

Harold kept his word for a few days, and wrote, as promised, 
very happy letters. 

“ I have seen the boys,” said one, u those wicked little fellows 
that used to plague Basil’s life out at Erlscourt, and you would 
not know them. They are splendid fellows to look at, rather of 
the gypsy or Spanish order ; and then their love for Basil is 
quite wonderful — a word or look from him is enough. He 
must be an extraordinary character thus to have tamed down 
those two cubs. They make such a handsome picture, the fair 
Saxon Basil and the two Murillo-looking boys hanging about 
him, all looking one more happy than another. 

“ I have bought a yacht, and ordered her to be refitted and 
got ready for a summer cruise ; also, 1 have determined to call 
her ‘ The Marguerite,’ after some one whom I am not supposed 
to love much ; or if you prefer the name of ‘ The Pearl,’ write 
and say so — it expresses your name as well. By the by, I met 
your friend, Miss Clare, looking wretchedly ill. They say she 
has been jilted by Philip ; but Philip writes and tells me he is 
engaged to your Lotty. I am afraid Philip has been a sad dog 
— and really, of the two, Miss Clare is best-looking, your Lotty 


118 


MARGARET 


is such a child, xiowcver, I cheered her .up, and invited her to 
take a cruise with us in the summer. She did not seem to me in 
good humor either.” 

In another letter, he stated, “ that Basil had also bought his 
yacht, and meant to call her ‘ The Ripple.’ That he had at- 
tended a very gay wedding, the bride being Margaret’s last re- 
maining bridesmaid. I fancy,” continued Harold, in the letter, 
u that is what has been troubling Miss Clare’s nerves. Here 
you are, all married now, excepting herself, and she was de- 
cidedly the most striking among you in personal appearance. It 
required a discerning fellow, like myself, to select the flower from 
this flock. If you will grant me longer leave of absence, I intend 
to take a run up to London, to see Pro. married ; and I have 
met a few old friends here also. I leave Basil to go home by 
himself.” 

Harold was absent about a month, and then returned to take 
Margaret home. His presence was necessary there, too. Mat- 
ters had come to that pass on the estates of Court Leigh, that 
Harold’s late trial of business, under Basil’s tuition, was like 1 v- 
to be called into immediate and sharp requisition. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Though Philip was in the enviable position of Lotty’s ac- 
cepted lover, and ought to have been, and was considered to be, 
in the seventh heaven, he felt himself, at times, in just the oppo- 
site condition. The little, wild, wicked thing was wilder, more 
wicked than ever to him. Loving, dutiful, and incessant in her 
attentions to her father, merry, happy, and affectionate to all her 
relations, doting on the big Bear, to Philip she was a provoking, 
teasing, everlasting torment. He chafed and fumed himself into 
a fever, and then shivered and shook himself out of it. 

“ Lotty,” he said, at last, in a sort of fit of desperation, “ is 
this the sort of way in which you mean me to court you for my 
wife ? ” 

“ I never asked you to marry me ; indeed I almost broke my 
neck to avoid paining you by a refusal.” 

“ You did,” ho said, his eyes flashing, “ you did, indeed ; and 
X shall never forget your kindness.” 




AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 119 

never imagined, after that hint,” said Lotty, quietly, “ you 
would trouble yourself about me again.” 
u Trouble myself? Ah, Lotty, if you would but hear me. I 

would tell you that my feelings are ” 

“ Stay !” said Lotty, “let us be serious. Do you mean really 
you are in earnest in your desire to make me your wife ? ” 
l ~ “ Good heavens ! what have I done to make you think other- 
wise for a moment?” cried Philip. 

“ I did not imagine that a man of your age and experience 
would, in reality, wish to bind himself down for life to one so 
childish in every way, so deficient in all the requisite qualities 
of a wife. Nay ! hear me out, Mr. Leigh. One also of whom 
you know so little ; who has, in no way, returned your affection, 
who does not even wish to make the trial. Come, confess now 
at once that your fancy is over, and that you and Lotty will ever 
be friends, but not lovers.” 

Philip pressed his hand over his heart, which raged with in- 
ward passion, as he heard these calm, cool words. His lips 

{ grew white, his cheek pale. 

“ O Philip ! ” said Lotty, startled, “ what is the matter ; are 
you ill?” 

“ And it is thus,” he gasped out at length, “ that you consider 
a passion which is more to me than life.” 

“Nay, you must excuse me,” said Lotty. “Remember, I 
have seen you with Augusta Clare. But I go to bring you some 
Vvater.” 

During her absence, Philip gave voice to his passion, though 
done. 

“ Wild, wilful, wicked, little thing, she shall be mine ; hers is 
the spirit I have often longed to curb and break in. I will make 
her love me ; she shall — madly, wildly, devotedly as I love even 
the shadow of her form, it shall be the business of my life to make 
J her love me as vehemently. Hitherto, no love has entered her 
' heart ; as yet she is, as she says, a child. No matter ; I mean 
so to act, that, with her father’s consent, I keep my vantage 
ground here. But this strange, weary feeling at my heart — 
what can it mean ? ” 

Lotty left him immediately after bringing the water, and 
Philip felt that it was as well, for his passion had overcome 
him. He had now to learn, if he had never known it before, 
that to nurse and cherish an evil disease in one’s heart, must 
wear out that heart in some way. 


W AW 


IM 


CHAPTER XXX. 

As has been intimated, the Beauvilliers were not so wise as 
they were amiable. Philip laid himself out to please them all, 
and was as devoted in his attentions to Mr. Beauvilliers as his 
dearest son. 

The old man began to look upon and treat him as such ; and 
while his mortal disease grew stronger, his mental faculties and 
discernment seemed to centre themselves more particularly on 
what was around him, than a more enlarged space. With 
Philip always at hand to insinuate his hopes and wishes, no 
wonder the fond old father grew to think that his Lotty’s 
invariable silence on the subject, and unchanging manner, were 
assumed. Only for his sake was she thus driving from her the 
love of one he deemed so deserving of her/ 

In the waywardness of disease, he would have taken the 
matter in his own hands and settled it at once, but that Philip 
besought him not to hurry her. He would trust to time and her 
own wishes, he said, for which Mr. Beauvilliers loved him the 
more, without perceiving that Philip knew his best chance was 
patience. He saw sufficient determination in Lotty’s eyes to 
make him fear that, even could he gain her father’s orders, she 
yet might disobey him. He determined to sound her. 

“ Lotty, you give me no chance, you allow me no opportunity 
of becoming better acquainted with the woman I wish to make 
my wife.” 

“ I think, Mr. Leigh,” said Lotty, carefully intending to avoid 
irritating him as she had done last time, “ that you mistake ; 
we are always together.” 

“ Yes ; by your father’s chair, or with others in company ; but 
you never permit me to walk out with you in the early morning. 
Saverme touch of your hand night and morning, you allow me 
not one single privilege that might be bestowed on your lover.” 

“ You are not my lover,” returned Lotty ; u you cannot be ; 
you and I judge differently of the love that should subsist be- 
tween husband and 'wife.” 

“ And what is your idea?” said Philip, eagerly. 

“ Look around you, and place before your mental vision all 
the married couples you know. See if. out of all, one half have 
not undertaken duties they cannot perform, sworn oaths that they 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


121 


all but forswear ; let us not do the same. I know I am not 
fitted to be your wife ; I have not that confidence and esteem for 
your character I must have before I can marry you.” 

“ Why not?” sayd Philip, with a dark frown. 

“You have not acted well by Miss Clare. I know by her 
letters that you have permitted her to think she has gained your 
affections.” 

“ On my honor, Lotty, on my sacred oath, I have never done 
so,” said Philip, ardently ; “ and tell me, do you like me so 
little, do you even wish to punish me so much, that you give me 
Augusta Clare for a wife ? 

“No, no,” said Lotty ; “but I do not esteem the man who can 
flirt with another woman for his own amusement. Miss Clare 
has in reality very strong feelings wdien roused ; and I am cer- 
tain, that with real love in her heart, you will find her very unlike 
the person she has hitherto appeared.” 

“ Never, never, Lotty ! for Heaven’s sake, name her not again 
in comparison to yourself.” 

“ Then, Mr. Leigh, can you not perceive how frightful it must 
be to enter into so solemn an engagement without the boundless 
store of love, which needs large portions to be poured out on 
many emergencies, and yet lose nothing, but rather gain, the 
more the stream flows ? ” 

“ I have enough for us both, Lotty ; my love for you is bound- 
less as the sea, inexhaustible as the sand on its shore.” 

“ Nay, Mr. Leigh, your love is lifeless without mine.” 

“ Do you mean to say you cannot love?” 

“ Yes, but not now. I am too young — I must not be forced. 
Lzook at Lady Leigh and Mrs. Herbert ; good, amiable, matchless 
as they are, in their wife’s devotion, can you think they are as 
well mated as their virtues deserve? I would wish ever to look 
up to and honor my husband.” 

“ Tell me what you would wish him to be, that I may try to 
learn.” 

“ He must be so noble in heart that he would trust me as him- 
self ; he must be full of that confiding love and ‘faith, so as to 
disdain to think of his wife as having a separate thought or heart 
from himself. Frankly, kindly, nobly must he ever judge me, as 
I would him.” 

“You are speaking of ” Philip stopped as abruptly as 

he had commenced, his eyes gleaming. 

“ I am speaking of no one in particular,” said Lotty. 

“ Well,” said Philip, breathing quick, “ if nothing that 1 can 

11 


122 


MARGARET 


say of my lore and devotion moves you, think of your father** 
wishes.” 

“ Something has olinded my father,” said Lotty, lowly and 
sadly. 

“ But you would obey him?” said Philip, eagerly. 

“ He has never yet asked me to do what I did not like,*’ said 
Lotty. 

And that was all he obtained in this conversation. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

But Philip's suspense wa3 shorter than even he, in his eager- 
ness, expected. 

One night Mr. Beauvilliers was seized with spasms of the 
heart. After hours of protracted agony, during which the pale 
little daughter, with eyes distended from intense anxiety into 
supernatural brilliance and size, never left his pillow. 

Philip was incessant in his attentions, and gained many a 
look of gratitude, if not love, from those wistful eyes. With 
his strong arms he helped the ever-attentive sons to move the 
restless, aged sufferer ; and no demand for assistance was made, 
but Philip was at hand to give it. In his devoted attentions to 
the father, he seemed to lose sight of himself and Lotty ; and the 
loving daughter repaid him well for this forgetfulness of self, by 
her unreserved manner and quiet appreciation of his services. 

Philip tasted, for this brief period, an extraordinary feeling 
of content and self-respect, such as those who act from a feeling 
of duty and disinterestedness must ever do. But the feeling was 
short as it was blest. 

Towards midday, as Mr. Beauvilliers grew calmer, and longer 
intervals of repose were given him, Philip could perceive that 
his eyes often rested on himself and Lotty, with a wistful look. 
A wild hope shot through Philip’s heart, that now, even now, 
was Lotty’s last filial duty to be demanded and paid. No gen- 
erous determination of liouor and forbearance found place in that 
wildly-beating heart ; she must-be his, with or without her love. 

“ My darling, we had almost parted,” said the dying man ; 
“ another struggle, such as this, and I shall be with your mother 
in heaven.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


125 


She kissed his pale forehead, so lately contracted with 
agony. 

“ My pet, let me see you a wife ere I die.” 

u O father.” 

“ It will make me happy, Lotty.” 

I am ready, father.” 

Philip heard the words, and with eager looks was by her side. 

“ Give your father this satisfaction, Lotty ; I will not claim 
one moment of your time while he lives.” 

“ Father,” said Lotty, unheeding him, “ what is a wife’s 
duty? ” 

“ Do your duty, my darling, but half as well to your hus- 
band as you have done to your father, and no wife will match 
you.” 

u What is my duty, father?” 

“To be a helpmeet to him; to be his companion, friend 
adviser. All this I know you can do, Lotty.” 

“All this I can do, father.” 

“ Then send your brothers here.” 

Mr. Beauvilliers explained his ardent wishes to see his chil- 
dren around him. 

“ I think I should die happier if I took with me to her mother 
the assurance that she is a' wife, and settled. You, my sons, 
are all married, and, I doubt not, would each give your Lotty a 
home ; but I should like to tell her mother she is about to make 
a worthy man happy, even as her mother made me.” 

A low murmur of approbation greeted his words. 

“ Then make preparation for my Lotty’s marriage, by my 
bed-side. Tell our kind kinsmen, that ‘ the girl’s ’ marriage is 
‘not celebrated as they, I know, would wish, but God wills it oth- 
erwise. They must pray for her happiness. And, Philip ” 

here Philip advanced, his usually grave face and serious eyes 
lightened up with a joy and eagerness, that only confirmed Mr. 
Beauvilliers still more in the execution of his wishes. He 
looked long and earnestly at him, then,- apparently well content, 
he said slowly, — “ My child is a Beauvilliers, truthful, simple, 
just, and affectionate. Restore her to me unchanged.” 

On my soul, I promise,” said Philip. 

As if well content, Mr. Beauvilliers fell into a calm slumber, 
his hand, so vast, yet so shrivelled and helpless, holding the 
little white one of th? loving daughter. He heeded not that, 
unlike its usual warm, life-like touch, it was now passive and 
cold. Motionless she sat on his pillow, so still, so calm, se 


124 


MARGARET 


apparently bereft of life and feeling, she might have been a 
statue. 

And the contrast was all the greater, from the hurried prep- 
arations that were going on in other parts of the house. 

Some brothers went in search of the clergyman, others, with 
Philip, went for the special license ; and such was the haste and 
despatch with which all worked, to fulfil their dying chief’s last 
wishes, that by the evening every thing was in readiness for the - 
marriage. 

In the silent presence of many Beauvillians, by the quiet bed- 
side of her dying father, Philip took that little cold hand in his, 
and demanded it in marriage ; she neither looked at him nor 
spoke. Slowly she obeyed her father’s whispered wish : “ Go, 
:ny best onq ; ” and leaving her place on the pillow, stood by 
Philip’s side, with her eyes still resting on her father. She 
started as she heard Philip’s distinct, and, as it seemed, tri- 
umphant voice, as he made the responses. She spoke hers in a 
voice like low, sighing music ; and while “ honor ” and “ obey ” 
were words distinctly heard, the clergyman bent his head in 
vain for the one syllable — u love.” He paused, but Philip im- 
patiently beckoned him to go on ; and, perhaps impelled by the 
extraordinary circumstances under which the marriage was cel- 
ebrated, he proceeded with the ceremony. 

As the last words were spoken, before Philip had time to 
claim her as his wife, Lotty was again seated on her father’s pil- 
low ; the hand so lately dead and cold in his was once more 
nestled in her father’s dying clasp. 

And thus matters went on for three weeks. During that 
time she was never absent from her father’s pillow more than 
live minutes at a time. Philip visibly gained ground in her esti- 
mation, by the devotedness of his attentions, and his apparent 
forgetfulness of any claim he might now have upon her. She 
seemed to be still as free as if no marriage had taken place. 

But when the last words were said, when the last look was \ 
tiiven, and the last sigh received, the wild burst of grief that 
broke from Lotty’s heart appalled him at first. The depth, the 
strength, the fervor of her attachment, opened to him the true 
nature of her character, and he rejoiced in it. u She shall love 
me in this manner ; I should die content to be thus mourned.” 

Many weeks elapsed before their beloved and idolized girl 
could be said to recover her father’s death. And if anything 
could have reconciled them more than another to her hasty mar- 
riage, it was to see the gentle care with which Philip attended 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


125 


her, the devotion he paid to her slightest wish. He did it, it is 
true, from the purest feelings of love. Nevertheless, there was 
an old black spot in his heart not yet rooted out, that made him 
say, time upon time, to himself, “ She shall reward me for all 
this forbearance hereafter.” And perhaps he was not so skilful 
in veiling his true feelings to Lotty, as he was to her kinsmen : 
[ for she showed no increase of affection during this period of 
sorrow. 

After a time, it was agreed, that, perhaps, a change to her 
new home, and return to the society of her beloved Margaret, 
would prove beneficial in every way to her health and spirits. 

The considerate Beauvilliaus refrained from trying her shat- 
tered nerves, by coming to bid her a personal farewell ; but the 
trees and bushes gave shelter to affectionate eyes, watching the 
departure of the beloved one. Her eldest brother lifted her 
little light, faded form into the carriage ; Philip took his place 
by her side ; she neither spoke nor moved, until they came to 
the lodge. There a last group of anxious kinsmen were as- 
sembled. Lotty raised her head, the large tears rolled down her 
face ; she had passed the gates, and with a passionate sob, she 
sunk back in the carriage. 

Philip drew down Hie blinds, and wrapping her up closely, lie 
folded one arm round her, then raising her face to his, kissed 
her once or twice, saying, softly: “ My wife ! ” — the little 
head laid itself down on his shoulder, and after a few convul- 
sions of grief, the sobs grew less, the tumultuous heavings 
stopped, the heavy eyes closed, and Lotty slept, like a little 
weary, worn-out child. 

But Philip could hear the beatings of his own Heart, as he 
thought that now this idolized little being was really his own, 
that he held the “ little wild, wicked thing ” in his close em- 
brace, had at last called her his wife, and touched her soft cheek 
with his lips. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Pro.’s marriage had been celebrated with ail the ceremony 
and etiquette Lady Katherine could desire ; though necessarily 
in a quiet way, because of Mr. Beauvilliers’ precarious health, 
and Sir Thomas Montagu’s demise. 

11 * 


126 


MARGARET 


The day was chiefly remarkable from other weddings, by the 
fact, that as the happy pair drove from the door, Pru. fell into 
hysterics. 

Lady Katherine sat down and looked at her, in bewildered 
amazement. A sort of notion was running through her head, 
that the gentle Pru. was suddenly possessed by an evil spirit. 
She gazed at her in awe, and a remembrance of the old-fash- 
ioned picture, often to be seen in ancient Bibles, of the herd of 
swine, where numerous little black demons are discovered 
dancing out of the porcine mouths, beset her with a qualm of 
fear. 

Luckily, ladies’ maids are so educated, as to be able to take 
out a diploma in the matter of hysterics ; and two or three of 
them having administered the usual amount of pattings, scold- 
ings, coaxing3, poor dears, and sal volatile, to Lady Katherine’s 
infinite relief, no further catastrophe happened, but that Pru. 
was put sobbing to bed. 

Everybody was settled in his and her proper home. Mar- 
garet and Harold at Court Leigh ; Lady Katherine and the hys- 
terical Pru. at Roseleigh ; Millicent and Gerald at the Rectory. 

The first smile that Philip saw on his wife’s face since the 
death of her father, was brought into being by Pru. She saw 
the carriage pass the window, on its way to Court Leigh, 
whither Philip was taking Lotty for a drive ; and, in the excite- 
ment of her feelings, she ran out, just as she was, without bon- 
net or shawl, and throwing her arms round Lotty, as she de- 
scended from the carriage, exclaimed, “ Dearest, darling Lotty ! 
I am so glad to see you ! ” 

Lotty duly appreciated the warm affection displayed, in a 
manner unprecedented on the part of a Miss Leigh ; and while 
she returned the embrace, had almost her usual manner ; espe- 
cially when, picking up Pru.’s knotting, it was discovered that 
though the knotting was there, the other end, all unwound, was 
to be traced all through the garden, losing itself in the window, 
out of which Pru. had sprung with such loving activity. 

Margaret and Millicent could have wept over the change in 
their little wild Lotty ; but the least show of feeling on their 
part only made the lips turn white as the cheek, though no word 
passed them, no tear of relief dimmed her bright eyes. They 
saw she was struggling with her sorrow, but with a resolute 
heart to conquer it ; and only did they show their perception of 
her efforts, by the ready love and affection with which they pro- 
moted all sorts'of schemes and pleasures to amuse her. Philip 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


127 


seemed to have no pleasure, no business, no thought, independ- 
ent of Lotty ; and appeared to live but to administer to her 
wishes. 

From the first week after their arrival, they were visited now 
and then by one of Lotty’s brothers or uncles ; who, long as the 
journey was, never said why they came, or what made them go 
away the next day. Philip’s hot temper was beginning to chafe, 
under what he considered a surveillance. Lotty may have per- 
ceived it, for she begged the last one who came, to entreat the 
others to be at ease about her. She would write constantly ; she 
was strong enough now to ride and walk about. They could see 
that she was gradually, though slowly, recovering her health 
and spirits ; and the good Beauvillians, thinking it but natural 
that Philip should be assured that he had not married the whole 
family, took leave of their Lotty, and left her, in the confidence 
of their fine natures, to the husband her father had selected 
for her. 

But Lotty was to write ; O, yes, Lotty must not let one week 
pass without writing. And her nur*e, who had lived with her 
from the hour of her birth, now her maid, was to write too. 
And so Lotty began her new life. 

Harold was changed, and very much for the better too, in all, 
excepting one thing, and that the mosfc important — his dislike 
to Gerald Herbert increased. He went to church only to scoff 
and rail at the preacher ; only to murmur y and find fault with 
what he called the “ canting parson.” 

Margaret would endeavor, in her gentle, persuasive way, to 
point out the beautiful truths, the lofty hopes, held out in 
Gerald’s eloquent words ; the rigid self-denial of his life, the 
uncompromising zeal with which he performed his duty ; the 
truth with which he acted his favorite text, namely, “ I am wil- 
ling to spend and be spent for you.” With the perverseness of 
a mind that would persist in its wrong judgment, he would not 
even give Gerald credit for what he deserved. 

A poor, simple-hearted curate, with plain words and homely 
truths, was more suited to Harold’s state of mind, than the 
gifted, almost inspired Gerald ; and for this reason : Harold’s 
heart, as regarded religion, was as a little child’s ; the u strong 
meat” he could not yet bear — the “milk of the word” was 
alone fit for him at present. And being uneble to bring his gaze 
up to the level of Gerald’s heaven-seeing eyes, he took refuge, 
as many men have done before him, in despising what he could 
not understand. 


123 


MARGARET 


Gerald, on his part, had forgotten, that “ he must be all things 
to all men, if by any means he might save some.” Schooled 
and exercised as his own heart had become, lie no longer re- 
membered the weaknesses of man’s nature, but deemed a duty 
undone, a fault committed, as so many commandments broken 
or forgotten; and “the eye must be plucked out, the hand cut 
off,” ere the sin could be forgiven. No latitude was allowed, 
no fault considered venial, no excuse was deemed valid. l‘er- 
fection was his aim; and this to a man whose education had 
been based on no religious principles; this to a congregation 
who were ignorant of the commonest duties of Christianity. 
No wonder that the rector was more feared than loved, more 
wondered at than respected. 

It was different with his wife. She taught the holy truths 
that her husband wished to force on hi3 people by example ; and 
a word from the gentle lips of his wife proved often more per- 
suasive than Gerald’s most eloquent appeal. Neither Harold 
;ior his people were ready or fitted to strike at once into the high 
path of duty pointed out by their rector. 

Lady Katherine, though considered a religious woman, had 
lived for the most part of her life in those times where a regular 
attendance at church, spending the Sunday in reading sermons 
and good books, taking the Holy Sacrament twice a year with 
the due amount of preparation required by the little manual 
called “ The Week’s Preparation,” caused her to be considered 
very devout. And, as wc have intimated, she was not naturally 
gifted with sufficient perception to distinguish a habit from a 
duty. She had been called a religious woman ; she considered 
herself one. To be told she was a sinner, poor, naked, blind, 
and helpless, was repugnant to her feelings, contrary to even- 
idea she had been indulging in for nearly seventy years. S< 
she joined with her son in disliking, not to say despising, their 
new rector. 

Margaret and Millicent patiently hoped for the best ; trying, 
in their loving woman’s nature, to soften all ruggedness, all 
bushes and briars in the paths of their lords. 

Harold really exerted himself. At first matters went on very 
well. It was agreeable to go to different farm-houses with his 
agent ; order them instantly to be repaired ; have the heartfelt 
thanks of the tenants, and the tearful blessings of their wives, 
poured upon his doings. Also, he was interested in plans that 
were submitted to him, and, the weather not being as yet very 
hot, he rode about and watched their progress in execution ; and 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


12v> 


was pleased with himself when he suggested improvements, and 
they were deemed worthy to be carried out. Tiresome as Price 
had been, yet as Sir Harold now seemed determined to look 
after his own affairs, no more impediments were thrown in his 
way. All seemed to go on delightfully smooth and pleasant. 
Basil was duly informed, by the self-pleased Harold and the 
delighted Margaret, of the happy state of affairs ; and was be- 
i 'ought to come and see the effects caused originally by him alone, 
and to assist with his further advice. 

* But Basil knew the besetting sin of the Leighs. Harold must 
reform himself by sure and slow degrees. Dependent upon an- 
other, the cure would never be complete. 

That he had some annoyances to contend with, Margaret ex- 
pected ; and, though Harold fretted and fumed about them, they 
were Dot of so grave a nature as to cause any serious interrup- 
tion So summer came on apace, and with the green leaves 
came fairer hopes. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Lotty was once more herself, and Philip, as he watched her 
playing like a very child with her great Bear, wondered at the 
intense love that burned in his heart for that little wild thing. 
And did she love him? This question he asked himself, day 
and night, hour by hour, and he could not answer it. 

Happy, frank, and unrestrained as ever, the butterflies of the 
hour seemed not more free from care, more intent upon being 
satisfied with whatever flower came in their way. 

Fond terms of endearment were showered upon Bear, caresses 
and loving words to Margaret, merry, mirthful ones to Pru. 
What to him? He knew not, he could not tell, lie could not 
define her feelings towards him. 

He had but to express a wish ; she said, “ Yes, Philip,” and 
it was done. Did she intend riding, and he said he wished to 
walk, she would come down in her walking dress, having taken 
off habit and hat on the instant. Did he but hint at an altera- 
tion in house, garden, her dress, her words ; even though he 
might be hardly conscious that he had said it, yet it avhs 
done. 

But Avhat mattered all this to him ; Avhat mattered it. that he 


MARGARET 


130 

had secured the prize he took at any price, if, after all, he did 
not gain her love ? The old sin was rising fast in his heart, but 
in a new form. The long-concealed, though still flourishing, 
plant of discontent and envy, that he had so nourished ana 
fostered from his youth, and which had apparently died when 
all food was taken from it, was beginning to sprout again. He 
envied Bear the fond words bestowed on him ; he hated to see 
Lotty going about with Margaret’s arm around her. He wanted 
no one to have part or parcel, or aught to do with his property. 
She might not love him (he had braved the chances of marrying 
her without), but she was his — his property, goods, chattels. 
If she would not love him, she should not love anything else. 
But he meant to make her love him. He was but waiting an 
opportunity to begin his operations. 

Philip Leigh resembled his cousin in the disregard, not to say 
indifference, he paid to religious duties. This is often the case 
with men whose vigorous intellect and quick talents smother the 
less striking qualities of plain sense and calm judgment. What- 
ever his inquiring mind had led him to study and examine on 
this vital subject had hitherto rather tended to confirm his scep- 
ticism. A little more (nought but the pitying love of some 
ministering angel, sent by an all-merciful God, kept one little 
spot, half awe, half fear, in his heart), and Philip Leigh would 
have been an infidel. He very seldom went to church ; once or 
twice he had tried to prevent Lotty going there. But she, so 
quick to hear his least wish, so observant of all his hints, took 
no heed on this subject. So he thought he would express him- 
self more strongly. 

“ Lotty, I want you to stay at home to-day to read to me,” 
said he. 

u I am going to church, Philip.” 

“ But do you not hear me say I wish you to stay at home? ” 

“ Then you must wish still, Philip, for that is all you can have 
now. When I return I shall be ready to do what you require.” 

“ Come, Lotty, don’t be childish. I am not in the habit of 
asking, to be refused.” 

“ Do you never go to church, Philip? ” 

“ Very seldom, little one. I do not see what men, in the full 
possession of their wits and faculties, want to gain by going 
here.” 

“ They should go to thank God for that gift of their wits and 
faculties.” 

“ Pooh, Lotty ! I was born with mine.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


131 


“ You believe in no God, then, Philip ? ” 

“ I am afraid I am a sad, irreligious dog, sweet Lotty,” said 
he, half smiling to think he had gained his end. 

She looked at him with a strange expression of pity in her 
face. 

“I go then,” she said, “ to pray for you,” and left him ; 
taking the path to church. 

He was too much surprised, not to say ashamed, to stop her ; 
but he determined to be revenged. When she returned, she 
found him in the same place she had parted from him. In her 
usual gay and innocent manner she came up to him as if nothing 
had occurred, showing him Bear all wound round with a wreath 
of wild briony ; she gave Philip some violets, and then said, 
“Now where is the book ? ” 

For a moment there were in Philip’s mind better thoughts 
and a conviction that if he wished to gain the love of this little 
precious heart, it must be by actions and thoughts as pure and 
bright as her own truthful eyes. But no, Philip’s heart was not 
capable of good and noble thoughts — he must be revenged ; and 
if she would not love, she should fear him. So he said, “ No, 
I thank you. I wish for no forced duties.” 

“Very well,” she said, without appearing to see his taunt. 
“ Then, Bear, come with me to get some more violets.” 

Philip grew pale with anger, and he said, in a loud voice, 
“ Stay where you are.” 

She took off her bonnet and shawl, and without looking at 
Philip, sat down with a book. 

“ Do you not see that you have annoyed me?” said he at last. 

“ Yes, I see it.” 

“ Then why do you not ask my forgiveness?” 

“ I request your forgiveness.” 

Philip bit his lips with anger, but knew not what to say. 

“ Ah ! Philip,” said Lotty, at last, in a cordial, happy manner, 
“ we are like two babies ; we shall never earn the flitch of bacon 
Margaret has promised us.” Then assuming a more serious 
look, with a quiet, dignified manner, she continued, “ I have 
much for which to thank God ; much for which I have to pray. 
Sickness or death shall alone prevent my going to church* Let 
us have no further dispute on such a subject.” She put her hand 
into his, almost the first unsolicited mark of familiarity she had 
ever bestowed on him. 

Madly as he loved her, irresistible as seemed the inclination to 
clasp her in his arms, and utter the burning cry of his heart, 


132 


MARGARET 


“ Love me, Lotty, 0, love me ! ” he was foiled, and could not for- 
give her. He said coldly, “ Your first duty is to your husband.” 

She turned away ; he could see a little shadow of disdain in her 
eyes, but she did not answer. 

No more was said that evening; but as she was preparing to 
go to Court Leigh in the morning, he said, “ You are always 
at Court Leigh ! cannot you stay at home one day ? ” 

“We are both engaged there, Philip, to meet my old school- 
fellows, Carry and Flory.” 

“ I do not choose to go.” 

“ Very well.” 

Lotty took off her bonnet, wrote a note, and rang the bell. 

“ Let me see that note,” said he. He read it ; and his heart 
smote him as he read the simple excuse to Margaret, which con- 
tained no implication of himself, and was written in her lively, 
happy spirit, rendering it all most natural their not going. 

“ You may say we will come to-morrow.” 

“ Thank you, Philip.” 

If Philip thought he had punished her, he could not be certain 
of it ; as Lotty was her usual happy self all day. 

He was not sorry that Margaret came, in spite of the excuse, 
and carried them both off by force to dinner. 


CHAPTER XXXI Y. 

Caroline and Florence appeared before their school-fellows, 
as they did to them, in very different circumstances to those in 
which they parted. 

Margaret' and Caroline were mothers ; Millicent looking for- 
Avard to such an event. Florence and Lotty, brides. 

Caroline’s husband Avas a good-tempered, fox-hunting, rather 
vulgar ’squire, of moderate fortune, who loved his pretty wife 
next to his horses and dogs., and thought her highly flattered by 
the compliment. She seemed equally pleased at her position in 
her lord’s affections, for her OAvn were almost wholly absorbed in 
a pale, flabby species of baby, with tottering head, weak neck, 
and watery blue eyes of large dimensions. 

What this baby ate and drank, when it slept and how it slept, 
when it went out, and where it Avent, with various other interest- 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


133 


ing items, formed the sole food for her thoughts, the sole exercise 
for her tongue. 

When Lotty brought down, after dinner, Margaret’s magnifi- 
cent boy, his little figure so erect, and his beautiful face so bloom- 
I ing and intelligent ; he formed a sufficient contrast to the little 
stranger as to call forth an abrupt remark from the young ’squire, 
rather to the detriment of his own child. 

“ Ah ! ” said Margaret, quickly, seeing the flush of mortified 
anger rising on the young mother’s cheek, “my boy is almost a 
year old.” 

“ And pray, Sir Harold,” continued the ’squire, whose name 
was Royston, “ have you had any peace since his birth? ” 

“ I' don’t see the little fellow very often,” said Harold, u and I 
never hear him, so I suppose I must consider myself fortunate ; 
and that he is a ¥ery good child, inheriting all his father’s 
amiability.” 

“ He is of a more enterprising and active nature than you, 

[ Harold,” said Lotty ; “ for he took incredible pains to scramble 
up on to a chair a day or two ago.” 

“ That’s just what my baby does,” said Mrs. Royston, eagerly ; 
“ he feels his feet already, little pet ! ” 

1 “ I conclude he is feeling something,” said the hard-hearted 
father, “ otherwise how can you account for those extraordinary 
faces?” 

“ Nonsense ! Robert,” said Mrs. Royston, angrily ; “ that’s 
only a way babies have of smiling.” 

“ It seems to express the reverse, to my thinking,” retorted he. 
At that moment, little Harold’s wondering and wandering 
eyes, that had been travelling from face to face, among the new 
comers, caught a glimpse of his father. A little radiant gleam 
of smiles shone over his whole face, he stretched out his arms, 
and quivering in every limb with delighted impatience, he ex- 
pressed, in baby language, his wish to go to him. 
i “ Ah ! now, that I call an unmistakable smile,” said the per- 
tinacious ’squire. “ I wonder, Carry, if your baby will ever be 
as nice a one as that ? ” 

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t care 
either. If my little darling has an unnatural father, it is his 
mother’s duty to make it up to him.” And slight symptoms of 
a disposition to weep afflicted Mrs. Royston. 

“ I should think,” said Margaret, with a voice like angels’ 
music, “that when your boy is the age of mine, Mr. Royston, 
you will be quite satisfied with him.” 

12 


134 


MARGARET 


“ He doesn’t deserve to have such a child,” was muttered by 
the injured mother. 

“ It is a great disadvantage,” continued Margaret, hoping to 
drown the last sentence, “ for so young a child as yours to be 
seen by the side of a young John Bull, such as my boy.” As 
he heard his mother’s voice, the young John Bull called out her 
name, and with all his child’s love beaming in his face, lie held 
out the strawberry his father had given him for her acceptance. 

Mrs. Royston retired to the drawing-room with the other 
ladies, in an aggrieved state ; and while she poured forth into 
Margaret’s ear all she endured from Mr. Royston’s unfeeling 
conduct, mixed up with an account of her baby’s extraordinary 
mental and bodily accomplishments, Florence was favoring Lotty 
with a private view of her trousseau. Her husband was a mild 
sort of fair, soft young man, without any very particular ideas 
upon any subject, which was fortunate, as Florence had decision 
enough for both. He was the junior scion, as well as junior 
clerk, of a large banking establishment, so that while Florence 
spread out her wedding-veil, looking at it with loving and admir- 
ing eyes, sometimes shaking it up into a fall of lace, then 
spreading it out, after the most approved milliner fashion, she 
told Lotty of all their expectations. 

“ We are to have £800 a-year now, my dear, and little 
enough too, considering the house Frederick works in. Rich ! 
my dear, rich does not express what they are. Literally, they 
might eat gold. I went one day into the Bank with Frederick, 
just for curiosity ; and, my dear, the bank-notes would have 
covered this floor, and heaps of gold lying about, just as if 
nobody cared. But the clerks stared so, I could not look much, 
I was so afraid Frederick would see them, and be angry. I 
had on a purple merino, and a white chip bonnet, with poppies 
and corn trimmings — most elegant, I can assure you, my dear 
Lotty. But, I forget, you never cared much about dress.” 

u No, not much,” returned Lotty. 

“ Then it is time you should, my de.ar. Now you are a 
married woman, you must study dress to please your husband. 
A man always likes to hear that his wife is the best dressed 
woman going, and I shall make a point of indulging Frederick 
in this wish. I shall consider it my duty.” 

“ I hope he will be duly grateful,” said Lotty. 

“ 0, yes ; that he will, or I’ll know the reason why. You 
see I have only two ‘ moires ’ at present ; mamma would not 
give me another, but I will have a black one, I am determined. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


135 


All married women wear black. By the by, my dear* what a 
handsome man your husband is ! Now, 1 should like to havo 
a dress just the color of his hair — a rich black. I wonder how 
• he came to fancy a child like you ? ” 

“ §o do I,” said Lotty, quietly. 

“ Is he kind to you, my dear? He did not look to me very 
good-tempered ; he seemed to me as if something had put him 
out.” 

u Perhaps he was thinking it was a pity he had not seen you 
before he married me.” 

“ Ah, ha ! very likely ; but you were always a good litfle 
soul, Lotty ; and Frederick says, never, not even at the Opera, 
with all that sea of lovely faces round him (that’s his own ex- 
pression, mind, and very pretty too), did he see one to compare 
to mine.” 

“ You are very much improved, Flory, since you left school.” 

“ Ah, my dear ! I must allow dress makes a vast difference : 
one can dress so sweetly now, there are such loves of things ; 
look, now, at this head-dress — By the by, did you notice Carry’s 
to-day, at dinner — put on all ? on one side ? I dare say she was 
wishing her baby good-by ere she parted from the cherub to 
come down to dinner, and never looked at herself in the glass. 
Now, if I had fifty babies, I should think it just as necessary to 
pay every attention to my personal appearance as if I had 
noije.” 

“ Rather more so, I imagine,” said Lotty. 

“ Exactly ; now you are reasonable, Lotty ; but as for Carry, 
she is baby-mad. And did you ever see such a dowdy as she 
has become? Two or three more children, and I don’t know 
what she will look like. But that’s the worst of you little 
people,” continued Flory, looking with satisfaction from her own 
tall, rather angular form, to Lotty’s petite one. 

“ It’s very shocking, certainly,” said Lotty. 

u But my dear, you have not half admired this white muslin, 
with the gold corn. And now, you see, having shown you all 
my things, it is but fair that I should see your trousseau.” 

u I did not have one,” said Lotty. 

“ Not a trousseau ! ” 

u No,” said Lotty, composedly. 

“ Good heavens, child ! Then how were you married?” 

“ Under very painful circumstances, Flory ; so we will say no 
more about it.” 

“ Yes ; I know my dear that you had to be married in a 


136 


MARGARET 


hurry, and by your father’s bed-side. I remember hearing hou 
your uncles, and brothers, and Mr. Leigh, were rushing every- 
where to get the special license ; and I was thinking myself I 
should like to be married that way too. But, of course, married 
by special license, I concluded you would have diamonds, or 
pearls at least, and Mechlin lace, and all the things proper.” 

“ No,” said Lotty. The remembrance of the scene sent a rush 
of mournful regrets to her heart ; but she knew her present 
auditor was wholly incapable of understanding that deep well 
of never-dying sorrow — so she continued, in her usual uncon- 
cerned voice, “ I was married in my old brown merino frock, 
that you have often seen at school.” 

“ My heavens ! and married by special license ! ” exclaimed 
Flory. “ Poor soul ! But surely you had a trousseau provided 
for you afterwards? ” 

“ Yes ; of black, with crape and broad hems.” 

“ Dear me, how shocking? Are you superstitious, my dear? 

— for if it was me, I should not know a moment’s happiness; 

X should feel perfectly certain that the match would turn out a 
miserable one.” 

“If it does,” said Lotty, “ I will come to you for consola- 
tion.” 

“ Do, my dear, you shall have my best efforts ; and, in the 
mean time, take this advice : don’t pin your happiness on any 
man. I told Frederick from the very first I was no weak fool, 
ready to give in on any occasion ; but I had likings and dislik- 
iugs, whims and weaknesses, and, like all other mortals, I was 
entitled to my share of indulgences. Now, look at Margaret ; 
1 believe she quite fears Sir Harold, and she has next to no 
power over him. By the by, how fat and bloated he has grown 

— aud such an elegant young man as he was, with such a fine 

dark eye ” 

I always thought he had two,” interrupted IjOtty. 

“ Of course he has ; you are as matter of fact as ever, you 
little, odd thing ! Do you remember how mad Augusta was 
when she discovered that it was Margaret he wanted to marry, 
not her? Ila, ha! how we laughed, Carry and I, it was such 
good fun her being so disappointed. Then, 'what do you think? 

— she wrote and told us she was going to be married to your 
husband. By the by, Lotty, she is most bitter against you.” 

u She is coming here next week,” said Lotty. 

, “ I am delighted to hear it. I shall show her all my things : 
she really has good taste in dress ; and, besides, how she will 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 137 

envy me ! It has always seemed strange to me that she does 
not marry.” 

u She is very handsome,” said Lotty. 

“ Yes ; and very striking too ; but she is such a shocking 
flirt — she goes such lengths. Really mamma was about to 
order me to have nothing further to say to her, she lost her 
character so completely last summer at Ryde. She is a pretty 
good age now ; the oldest of us all, save Millicent. She has a 
shocking temper, and agrees with none of her family ; they de- 
spise her, and she hates them. But I must show you my pink 
glace , with silver trimmings, and such a spray, my dear, for the 
hair.” 

But Lotty, declaring that coffee would be announced, departed 
down stairs, and concluding, from Margaret’s look, that she had 
had a dose of talk similar to her own in interest, called upon her 
to come and sing. Their sweet voices rose and fell in rich har- 
mony, beguiling the gentlemen from the dining-room. 

“ My dear,” whispered Florence to Lotty, u I mean to devote 
myself to studying your husband’s character for an hour ; I am 
a great judge of such things, and rarely mistaken ; and being 
such a little, young, inexperienced thing, I may be able to afford 
you some good and sensible advice as to his management.” 

“ I feel very grateful,” said Lotty, smiling. 

“ Ah ! depend upon it, my dear, I shall be able to do you a 
great deal of good.” 

Florence made only one discovery in the hour that she kindly 
devoted to the study of Philip’s character. He never willingly 
withdrew his eyes from Lotty’s face, and he never lost a single 
word that fell from her lips ; nevertheless, he did not speak to 
her, and he was as reasonably entertaining as most men ap- 
peared to Florence. 

So she forgot her intention to pry into his secret soul, and lost 
herself in conjectures as to the motives of the ward and watch 
he seemed to hold over his wife. 

Philip appeared quite satisfied, whether she conversed or re- 
mained silent, so she had ample time to settle all the pros and 
cons to her mind. 

“ Pie is jealous, of course he is, and reasonable enough too, 
considering he has married such a child. I shall give her a 
hint ; those sorts of dark, sanguine-looking men are always 
jealous, and have furious tempers when roused. With his brows 
knit, and his eyes flashing, he looks really now as if he would 
no more mind committing a murder than I do eating this bread 
12 * 


138 


MARGARET 


and butter. It will be my duty to warn the child. Heavens ! 
she speaks to Frederick, and the man glares at him. Jupiter 
Ammon ! what a countenance. I must go and release Freder- 
ick from his awful, and to him unknown situation.” 


CHAPTER X X X V . 

“ I do not like those people now at the Court,” said Philip to 
Lotty, on the morrow after this party. 

“That is very likely, Philip,” said Lotty, as she sat busily 
tying his fishing-flies. 

“ One is a vain, selfish, opinionated female, tied to as weak a 
fool as ’twas ever my lot to encounter ; and the other ought to be 
called 1 Gamp/ and I need say no more. Associating with such 
creatures would make a monkey gape.” 

Lotty laughed and said, “Yet each of them rejoice in a few 
virtues, that some of us may want. It is rare to find a person 
wholly devoid of amiable qualities.” 

“You are a philosopher, Lotty.” 

“ I do not think I am so much of a philosopher as a person 
who can easily accommodate herself to the company she is in. 
My two school-fellows rather amuse me, they have turned out so 
exactly what I expected they would.” 

“As you are such a judge of character, let me hear your 
opinion of mine.” 

“ It is not a favorable one, Philip.” 

“As how?” said Philip, his brows knitting. 

“ Because you would marry me, without caring for my affection.” 

“ Lotty, Lotty, that is false ! You know ’twas my ardent, in- 
fatuated love for you, that made me secure you at any price.” 

“ You loved yourself, Philip, because, if you had loved me, you 
would not have taken advantage of my dying father’s wishes 
(which you saw, were commands to me) to make me marry you, 
without having that love for you which I ought to have felt.” 

“ You speak strangely, Lotty, to one who is your husband.” 

“ I do it advisedly, Philip, because it is my firm purpose to 
fulfil my father’s wishes, to love you if I can ; and I think you 
must know my character sufficiently well, by this time, to 
be aware that, with or without, I shall perform my duty as your 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


139 


wife. Will you trust and believe in me, that all this I mean to 
do?” 

44 I cannot, at present, see the drift of what you mean, Lotty ; 
you are my wife — as such I command your love and obedience.” 

44 My obedience you have, Philip ; my love has to be gained. 
Remember it was your own doing, marrying me without.” 

“Am I so very disagreeable, personally and mentally,” said 
Philip, hotly, u that I am to sue to a child like you, for what no 
woman ever denied me before, did I take the trouble to demand 
it ? ” 

k * My love is worth the trouble of gaining it,” said Lotty, 
looking up with an expression in her face, so lovely and yet so 
exalted, that Philip felt he could have knelt at her feet, and sued 
as the humblest slave for one word of love. As it was, he said, 
with faltering voice, 44 Love me, Lotty, for there is nothing on 
earth that I covet so much.” 

44 I wish to do so, Philip, but you will not permit me. Can 
you not be generous, and allow something for the peculiar cir- 
cumstances under which I was made to marry you, being 
myself of a nature neither pliable nor yielding ? Can you not act 
“a noble part of forbearance and patience, and win my love 
through gratitude for such conduct?” 

44 I have been doing so, child.” 

44 Yes, and I was becoming contented and happy.” 

44 In what way have I changed, then?” 

“You have within your heart, Philip, some ill weed, that 
chokes every fine and noble feeling. Why need you seek 
revenge for what you know I regret as much as yourself? By 
resenting the want of my love, can you make it spring? Trust 
me, be frank and generous with me. I know not my own heart, 
if it remains insensible to high and noble actions, but it closes 
when ” she paused. 

44 What, Lotty ? you can have nothing less bitter to say to me 
I than you have done : then what, I ask ? ” 

44 You know, Philip, better than I can explain, and it is to 
warn you that I have spoken, as you think, thus bitterly.” 

4k I have not now to learn how to manage a woman,” said 

Philip, fiercely , 44 especially ” lie was about to add, 44 one 

a child such as you are ; ” but a remembrance of her escape fro i 
him the day he first told her how he loved her ; a look at her 
now, with the clear eyes looking into his with truth and deter- 
mination dwelling there, told him he dealt with no child with no 
ordinary woman. 


140 


MARGARET 


But his pride of manhood, his lofty sense of his own intellect 
and powers, his firm persuasion that no woman lived who could 
brave his will and yet not suffer for it, all, all bore down the love 
he felt for the first time in his life, and felt so strongly, making 
him think it were better to lose the heaven he panted- for in the 
possession of her love, than gain it by any other means than as 
he willed it. 

44 Come, child, you have fooled enough,” he said, kissing her 
forehead. 44 Get on your things, and come with me to the 
brook, and pray let me hear no more nonsense from my little 
Lotty’s lips. The heroics would be bad enough to bear in 
a woman twice your age, much more my child wife.” 

Lotty obeyed, and as he watched her playful sports with her 
Bear, while the trout, unheeded by him, took the tempting fly, 
he said to himself, 44 Little, silly thing ! as if I, a man of the 
world, with twice her experience, had to be taught how to woo. 
She shall love me, that I have sworn to myself. As she says 
herself, her love is worth some trouble, and having often railed 
at matrimonial mawkishness, I must not grumble if it does cost 
me some trouble to break her in. When I have conquered her, 
when I have brought her to my arms with penitence and 
beseeching love, then, and then only, shall she see that the earth 
contains not a thing I prize so much as her very shadow, wild, 
wicked, little thing ! No conqueror of worlds ever triumphed as 
I shall ; no gambler ever played for such a stake.” 

41 Ah, Philip,” said Lotty, 44 that must be a fine fellow; you 
have had him on the last ten minutes.” 

In some confusion Philip drew in a little trout, about the 
length of his finger, whose agonized attempts to escape from the 
fatal hook had been quite unheeded until that moment. 

Luckily Lotty was summoned to the house by visitors. 

It was Florence and her husband. 

44 Well! my dear, Frederick and I have come over to see 
your abode, and upon my word ’tis vastly pretty, quite a bijou 
of a place. This clematis puts me in mind of those beautiful 
wreaths that Forster and Duncan sent us for the ball, after Mar- 
garet’s marriage. They are as pretty as if artificial, are tliov 
not, Fred? Well, my dear, and where is my lord? the servant 
said fishing, so I suppose we shall not be favored with a view of 
his highness.” 

44 1 cannot say, indeed,” said Lotty; 44 but if you wish par- 
ticularly to see him, we will walk down to the brook.” 

“O, no, my dear, we don’t care, do wo, Frederick? we just 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


141 

came over to see you — I am not quite happy about you, 
my dear, such a child as you are, married to that tall, dark 
morose man, handsome as he is. Yet, you know, ‘ handsome 
is as handsome does/ is it not, Fred? and we both think 
he is horridly jealous, and of a frightful temper. Don’t we, 
Fred ? ” 

“ That is your opinion,” began Mr. Bankes. 

“ And yours too,” said Florence, decidedly. 

“ Why, yes, after what you told me last night, Flo., I am 
decidedly of your opinion,” returned Mr. Bankes. 

“ There now, you see, Lotty, so I thought we could not do 
better than just come over and warn you.” 

“ Thank you,” said Lotty. 

“ You may well say that, my dear, for it is not every one 
whom I care to trouble my head about. Never was any one less 
given to meddle or make ; but, in your case, I should be neglect- 
ing a positive duty, if I did not tell you my suspicions, and give 
you some advice. So now, Frederick, you stay here — Lotty has 
got something to show me up stairs ; and when we have finished 
our confab, let us find you here.” 

“ But the dog?” said Fred, looking dismally at Bear. 

“ 0 ! do not fear him,” said Lotty ; “ see ! I will make him 
like you.” And touching Mr. Bankes on the shoulder, she con- 
tinued, “ Look, Bear ! friend, Lotty’s friend ; take care of 
him.” 

“ My heavens ! don’t,” exclaimed Florence ; “if your hus- 
band caught you doing that to Frederick, he’d cut him up into 
mince-meat.” 

“ O ! don’t, Mrs. Leigh,” said the alarmed Mr. Bankes, with- 
drawing from Lotty’s touch. 

Lotty laughed, saying, “ I am afraid the mischief is past 
mending ; however, I will be chopped up for you.” 

A shadow withdrew from the window, unobserved by all but 
herself. 

“ Well ! my dear, as I was saying this morning to Margaret,” 
said Flory, on their way up stairs, “ it is quite a delight to me 
to see you all once more. But how subdued she is ! and before 
I’d run after a husband as she does after Sir Harold, I’d be 
corked up in a bottle. He does not seem to me to be able to do 
a thing without her. Margaret here, Margaret there, Margaret 
everywhere. A boots at a hotel is better off.” 

“ "Margaret likes it ; besides, Sir Harold is at present under- 
going a great deal of trouble and annoyance about his estates, 


142 


MARGARET 


and Margaret is glad to assist him, as he is not accustomed 
to it.” 

“ Accustomed to it ! no, I should think not. My heavens ! 
what a row he made at breakfast this morning, about some 
unlucky fellow called Price. I must say Margaret calmed him 
down, and got it all satisfactorily settled. But to lead such a 
life ; why, she can have no peace to herself, no time to read a 
nice gossipy novel, or try on a new dress, or have her hair done 
up in twenty different styles, to see which is most becoming. 
Ah ! my dear, delighted as I was to see them, they are a very 
unhappy couple ; and though I make a point of never meddling 
or making, I shall be only doing my duty to warn Margaret.” 

“Of what, Flo.?” said Lotty. 

“ Why I, — that is, — I shall tell her what I think.” 

“ Perhaps she knows it already.” 

“ But, my dear, bystanders are bystanders, and they see more 
than most people. Margaret wants a little advice, and I shall 
make a point of giving her some. Well ! dear, your house is a 
picture of neatness and comfort, and I hope you will be able 
always to keep it so. Ah ! here is your old nurse. How do 
you do, nurse? I think your mistress is lucky to get such a 
nice husband, and such a pretty house, before she was seven- 
teen.” 

“ I should have been glad to see her still Miss Beauvilliers 
for a few years yet, Mrs. Bankes,” said the nurse ; and laying 
her hand fondly on the pretty curls, she continued, “ I don’t 
like to see happy young girls taking upon themselves cares and 
troubles that befit older years. But my darling is like no one 
else — God love her ! ” 

“ She is as good a little body as ever lived, nurse ; but now I 
must say good-by, for I have left my dear Frederick, who is 
all the fondest heart could wish, gentle, kind, and inexpressibly 
attentive and affectionate, quite alone in the drawing-room'; My 
dear Lotty, how ill nurse looks ; are you sure the servants are 
attentive and kind to her ? I know what servants are ; bring a 
new one in among them, and they become jealous as tigers, 
especially if they never had a mistress before. I should not 
wonder if they hated both you and nurse. And O ! my dear, 
suppose they should poison you — I have heard of such things.” 

“ So have I,” said Lotty, highly amused at her visitor’s im- 
pertinence and credulity. 

“ Then, my dear, take my advice ; make the cook come in 
and taste every dish before your eyes ere you touch it.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 143 

“That will be rather troublesome: I think: I will take my 
chance.” 

u But whom have we here, my dear? — a carriage driving to 
the door. Dear me ! it is only Carry ; such a figure too, and 
that frightful baby with her. I really do think that child will 
be an idiot, it’s so odd in its ways. So, my dear, I shall go, 
for really one never can get in a word when Carry is in 
company, unless ’tis about teething and croup. Good-by ! it 
delights me to see you so well and happy, with such a charm- 
ing husband and house ; just what you deserve, vou dear, good 
soul ! ” 

It was some minutes before Carry could notice Lotty’s wel- 
come, she was so busy unpacking the baby, and seeing it was 
not injured by the drive. 

“ Now, Jane,” to her nurse who accompanied her, “ throw 
this shawl round him, little darling ! the room is cold, I think. 
Do you think we did right to take off his pelisse, Jane?” 

“ Well, he might miss it when we came to go again,” said 
Jane. 

“ Perhaps he might ! but, Lotty, would you mind shutting 
the window ? I was determined to call upon you, Lotty, and as 
Margaret offered me the carriage to take baby a drive, 1 Avas 
glad of the opportunity of bringing him here for your old nurse 
to see ; she must be such a judge of fine babies.” 

“ I will ring for her,” said Lotty. 

“ Poor little man ! ” said the old nurse, when she arrived, and 
took in her tender arms the little, weak, wabbling thing ; “ and 
what have they wrapped you up like this for, I wonder ? Why, 
ma’am, you should have him out on this fine, sunny day, sprawl- 
ing on the grass, with as little clothes on him as can well be.” 

u Good heavens ! nurse, what a barbarous notion. It would 
kill my darling.” 

“ He’d be a deal stronger and better-looking,” said nurse, not 
perceiving Mrs. Royston’s shocked maternal vanity. “ Why, 
ma’am, look at all my Mr. Beauvilliers, six of them in a row, 
every one about six feet high, and stout in proportion — not a 
sickly, not a weakly one in the lot. They have been every day 
as wasn’t to say wet, a sprawling on their little backs on the 
grass, from May to September, and nothing on ’em but a bit 
decency flannel.” 

“ But not Miss Lotty ! ” 

“ Eh ! but I have had Miss Lotty out from six in the morn- 
ing to six at night, her little legs and arms blue with cold, and 


144 


MAR r ^RET 


yet she’d cry to go in, and slap my face so pretty. O, she was 
sensible, was she ! I had a mind to think often she was a fairy, 
she was that clever.” 

“ But she is very little, nurse.” 

“ So she be, ay, so she be ; but past all belief, sensible.” 

“ So is my boy ; you cannot think what faces he makes if he 
has not sugar in his food. But look at his legs, nurse ; Mr. 
Royston teases me so, and says he is sure to be bandy-legged.” 

“ He has a great look on’t,” said nurse, more candidly than 
politely ; “ but Master Harold’s the bonny boy. I never seed 
such another out of my lot.” 

Nurse having now completely finished herself in Mrs. Roys- 
ton’s eyes, as a nurse of discernment, was suffered to depart ; 
and telling Jane to pack up the precious child again, Caroline, 
while assisting in this interesting business, talked to Lotty. 

“ It is a wonder to me how Margaret’s boy does thrive ; she 
has it down at stated times ; but would you believe it, she never 
tastes its food — (O Jane, take care, lie has got that purple 
ribbon in his mouth) — or sees his clothes aired — (I wonder if 
there can be anything poisonous in the dye of that ribbon), or 
comes up to the nursery at unexpected times ; in fact, she never 
worries herself in the least about him. And he looks just the 
sort of child to go off in a fit, or have croup. (Now my dar- 
ling’s little beauty hat, with its pretty, titty, little feather.) 
And he has such plain clothes — brown Holland frocks, act- 
ually ! and he to be a young baronet. (Now, then, Jane, walk 
him up and down before the window until the carriage comes 
round, where I can see him.) I could not answer to my con- 
science, Lotty, being such a mother ; and I am sure I hope to 
goodness Flo. will never have any. Her mind is wholly taken 
up with finery and gossiping, and I feel ready to cry at what 
her baby will suffer.” 

“ It is to be hoped she will not have one,” said Lotty. 

u Here is the carriage. I must not keep it waiting. G cod- 
in', dear ! delighted to see you so well and happy. Now, 
darling 1 ” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


145 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Her visitors being gone, and knowing that Philip was not 
likely to appear again soon, after what he had accidentally heard 
at the window, Lotty called her Bear, and went to sit under the 
great chestnut tree. 

“ All ! Bear, dear Bear ! come with me, and we will have a 
little flirtation,” 

To the innocent and unsuspecting w’orld, Bear usually ap- 
peared as a dog of such stern gravity and profound wisdom, 
that many who beheld him were inspired with awe, and almost 
all with fear. But now, what a change under the influence of 
those magical words, and the bright smile that accompanied 
them ! Bear became a great, unwieldy puppy, of most frolic- 
some mood. One moment lie had a huge paw on each of 
Lotty’ s shoulders ; then he was away, like the rushing breeze, 
impelled by the same viewless purpose as it w r ere. Then, like a 
sinister, villanous dog, he would appear again from behind, and 
stealing with noiseless footfall, would pounce upon his little mis- 
tress like an overwhelming avalanche of Bear, sending her roll- 
ing on the sward. 

“O! Bear, Bear, how wild you are to-day,” said Lotty, quite 
breathless, at last, in her endeavors to escape his mad gambols. 
u Come, let us sit quiet now, and talk a while, like discreet 
people. Well, Bear, would you be Carry? No! you say. 
Then, would you be Flory? No, again. Then, Bear, would 
you be Lotty ? Ah ! Bear, think again. Lotty, at this age, 
with such a long life before her, and no bright, sunshiny hope. 
I have hope, do you say ? I think you are right, Bear ; and 
besides, I would not be Carry or Flo. ; I would rather be Lotty. 
I think as you do, Bear. For w r e have a good purpose in hand, 
and we have our duty to do also. But it was sad, Bear, ah ! 
very sad, that Lotty could make no impression ! that poor Lotty 
still is not understood. But if we try to do our duty, if we 
steadily pursue our way, if we hope the best, pray for the best 
— ah ! Bear, say we do not succeed, still that is better than 
being Carry or Flo., and life will pass quickly, looking for that 
aim, seeking that purpose. And then, Bear, if we succeed, 
if we open the blinded eyes, make the deaf ear to hear, enlarge 
the heart to understand — ah ! that is angels’ work ; but we ca& 
13 


146 


MARGARET 


help, and then, indeed, shall we be rewarded. The uncongenial 
tie will seem to have been a blessed bond, the long life of dead 
affections will blossom with roses. But, Bear, I doubt it. Did 
you say, ‘Doubt not, Lotty?’ Why, Bear? I tried to-day. 
My heart was proud and angry, but I did it, because it was my 
duty. Did you see me, laying my hand on my heart to keep it 
down ? The All-Merciful helped me ; the All-Powerful will 
assist me. I fold myself in the mantle of Faith and Hope. But 
I agree, my Bear, I agree ; look not so wistfully ; there are two 
people in the world with whom I would not change places.” 

“And to whom are you talking, Lotty?” said Philip, as he 
drew near, unexpectedly. 

“ To Bear,” she said. “ Bear knows all I say ; and he 
knows as well as I do that we have been holding a very 
scandalous conversation, and abusing our neighbors.” 

“What do you mean, foolish child?” said Philip, half 
amused. 

“ Bear said he would not be Carry ; and I said I would not 
be Flo. ; and we were well content to remain as we are, rather 
than be either.” 

“ I quite agree,” said Philip. “ I did not think you and 
Bear could muster up so much sense between you. Of all the 
insufferable females I ever saw — but pray what was she saying 
when I was coming in? I know it was something atrocious, 
you gave me such a warning look.” 

“ She said you were jealous, and would make mince-meat of 
her spouse.” 

“Jealous of him, indeed! jealous of that atom of dust — 
that speck of nonentity ! But you had your hand on, his arm, 
Lotty.” 

“Yes, to show Bear he was a friend.” 

“ Then, don’t do so again ; for, if you prevent Bear from 
eating him, I shall certainly kick him into the next parish.” 

“ I wish to go this evening to see Milli.cent,” said Lotty. 

“ Why on earth cannot you stay at home?” 

“ She is ill, Philip.” 

“ I really do not wonder at it ; that man, Herbert, having 
the constitution of a horse, thinks his wife ought to have the 
same. He will kill her some day, dragging her about to schools, 
parish meetings, and sick old women. And then when she is 
dead, he will, I suppose, canonize her, and think her a saint in 
heaven ; will thank God for taking her to a better world.” 

“ I think he is blinded at present by over-zeal ; but I trust 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 147 

he will have no such shock to cool his ardor as the loss of his 
Milly,” said Lotty. 

“ It would serve him right if he had.” 

“ But may I go, Philip? ” 

“ How long will you be away ? ” 

“Two hours.” 

“ If you will promise to be at home by four o’clock you mav 
go. I have a respect for Mrs. Herbert, I must owm ; and really 
should grieve if we lost her.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

“ Little Lotty, how pleased I am to see your sweet face,” 
said Milly, when Lotty arrived ; “ and Margaret will be here 
in a few minutes, too, and it will amuse me so much to hear 
you talk.” 

“ Is your cough very bad, Milly ? ” 

“Yes, at night ; and the doctors say I shall not get rid of it 
until my baby is born. Here is Queen Margaret.” 

“ Ah ! how nice this is,” said Queen Meg. 

“ Only you two. Do you know, I do not think I am ill-tem- 
pered ; but Flo. and Carry are rather too much for me, all alone. 
I must beg, Lotty, that you and Philip will come and stay with 
us while they remain.” 

“ You must write and ask Philip,” said Lotty. 

“ What a good little wife ! who would have thought, Milly, 
that our wild, little, saucy Lotty, would have made such a pat- 
tern wife ! ” 

“ But she is very learned on the matter ; don’t you remember 
the matrimonial harangue she gave us ? ” 

“ Yes ; and how true her prophecy about Flory and Carry 
has proved. Well, we shall be all together next week, and may 
compare notes. Flo.,” continued Margaret, “ is very ill-natured 
about Augusta, and says very unkind things of her.” 

“ I do not like Augusta,” said Lotty ; “ she is mischievous, 
and I am sorry she is coming.” 

“ She can do no harm to us, at all events, Lotty,” said Mar- 
garet, in surprise. 

“Yes, I think, if she wished it, she would make Gerald elope 

with her.” 


148 


MARGARET 


They both laughed at this speech, and asked Lotty if she was 
jealous, which made her pout, in school-girl fashion. 

Gerald at this moment came in, and, addressing Margaret, 
said, “ I wish, Lady Leigh, you would use your influence with 
Sir Harold not to employ the Joneses. Both father and son 
are notorious drunkards and Sabbath-breakers.” 

“ Ah, Gerald ! it rejoices me so much to see Harold employ- 
ing any one, as well as working himself, that I could not, would 
not, say aught that might lead to another change.” 

“ But think of the sin, think of the responsibility you draw 
upon yourself, in giving such men encouragement ; why, you 
are answerable before Gocl for giving them the means of com- 
mitting such sins.” 

“ By and by, Gerald, when Harold is more settled in his 
plans, then we may try ; but not now, I entreat you.” 

u Pardon me ; you are not justified in so doing. Are these 
men to go on sinning — to be encouraged therein, because you 
have not sufficient moral rectitude in you to urge Sir Harold to 
do what he ought? ” 

“ In other words,” said Lotty, “ you think Margaret ought to 
let her husband take his chance of sinking into the idle, listless 
man he was, rather than that the Joneses should make beasts 
of themselves?” 

u Exactly, Mrs. Leigh.” 

“ I will not do it,” said Margaret. 

“ Then I must,” said Gerald ; “it ought to be done, and it 
must.” 

“ I thought,” said Lotty, “ that a minister of the Gospel left 
the stern principles of duty and obedience to be enforced by other 
professions than his own. While following the footsteps of his 
Blessed Master, he persuades men to enter the True Fold, with 
gentle words, holy pity, and calm forbearance.” 

“ But this duty is so clear, so simple,” said Gerald ; “ am I 
to pander to the weakness of a sensible man, such as I know Sir 
Harold to be, when lie likes ” 

“ Yes,” interrupted Lotty, “ if by this means you save him.” 

“ Mrs. Leigh ! I am shocked : pardon me, but your doctrine 
is painful ! Suffer me, some day, to talk this matter over with 
you. At present, Milly, I must go to the school. Are you suf- 
ficiently well to accompany me ? ” 

“ No, that she is not,” said Margaret. 

“ But remember how T inconvenient it is,” said Gerald. 

“ I know it is, love,” said Milly ; “ but I am indeed quite 
Unfit for the exertion.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


140 


u So, good-by, Gerald,” said Lotty, “ and as you go to the 
school, here is something for you to meditate about. I don’t 
think high-church clergymen, as they .are called, ought to marry, 
they make such very uncomfortable husbands. They look upon 
their wives as machines to administer to their bodily comforts, 
and as slaves to carry out their ultra views. They have no con- 
sideration for either their personal or mental objections to such 
things. The duty of making them happy, of being courteous, 
kind, and forbearing, seems forgotten. They are on such a high 
pinnacle of excellence, they cannot stoop to the minor virtues.” 

“You are severe, Mrs. Leigh; uncharitable,” said Gerald, 
with mournful fervor. 

“ I have borrowed the words, Gerald, but I would have you 
weigh them. Did you not promise and vow to cherish Milli- 
cent, in sickness and health, until death parted you? Death 
speaks in that cough.” x 

“ Ah ! ” said Gerald, springing to Millicent’s side. 

“ It is but too true, love, that I am far from well,” said Milli- 
cent, gently to him ; “ but my death shall never rest at your 
door, Gerald. I am no weak wife, not to say what I think ; 
neither are you so severe to your Milly, that I should fear to 
appeal to you. I overtaxed my strength in the winter, dearest, 
and suffer for it now ; but leave me at present, and you shall 
hear the doctor’s opinion, and all I have to say, this evening.” 

He was reluctant to leave her, but she was getting flushed 
and nervous, and he listened to Margaret’s advice to let her rest 
now. 

But he begged Lotty to follow him into another room. Tak- 
ing both her hands in his, with eyes full of anguish, he looked 
into hers. “ Is her life in danger?” 

u I believe not, Gerald.” 

“ How long has she been thus ailing? ” 

“ I noticed how thin and pale she had become when I came 
to High Leigh.” 

“ And I never saw it, never heeded it. Ah, Lofty, if I am 
to lose her — so long waited for — only just won. what good 
will my life be to me ? ” 

“ Pray to God, Gerald, and put faith in your prayers.” 
“Faith! Lotty?” 

“ Yes, faith ; you weary yourself to death — you work night 
and day — you take no meal in peace — you give yourself no 
relaxation — you create a vexed spirit within you. And what 
do you gain by all this? Nothing. Pray to God, and suffer 
13 * 


150 


MARGARET 


him to answer your prayers, without putting yourself in the 
place of God. Why beseech him to grant you a favor, and 
then try to do it yourself? ” 

“ Lotty, Lotty, your doctrine is not tenable ; but I go to 
think the matter over.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

It wanted five minutes to four o’clock as Lotty rode up the 
avenue to High Leigh. Philip was sitting under the veranda. 

“ What made you ride across the fields, instead of coming by 
the road?” said he, gloomily. 

“ I was afraid of being late, Philip ; the fields are two miles 
shorter.” 

“So you would rather break your neck than fail in your ap- 
pointment.” 

“ It looks like it,” said Lotty. 

Was there no sentiment in Philip’s breast that prompted him 
to gather the little fair thing to his heart, and clasping her 
close, bid her break every promise to him sooner than risk that 
dearest, most precious life? So lovely as she looked, too, the 
thick curls in disorder, the excited eyes looking wonderful in 
size and brilliance, the rich peach-bloom on her cheek, and the 
red lips parted, as the quick breath came and went, all showing 
the haste with which she had ridden to fulfil her promise. 

No, there was but one feeling besides the uncontrollable ad- 
miration with which he gazed upon her ; and that was a mean, 
unworthy thought, a fruit from the upas-tree, that dwelt within 
that fine, handsome form. 

He would have given his right hand that she had been five 
minutes behind the time rather than before. If she would but 
do one thing with which he could find fault ; ifLut for one fleet- 
ing moment he had it in his power to upbraid ; if he could see 
those fearless eyes droop but an instant before his ; he would 
rejoice, as men do, when the life- wish of their heart is gratified. 

“Margaret is close behind me,” said Lotty.; “that is, she is 
coming by the road, and will be here in five minutes.” 

“ I thought you were so fond of Margaret that you spent 
every moment of your time in her company ; why, then, did you 
not accompany her ? ” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


151 


“ I should have been late, and that, Bear, is a thing you and 
I do not like to be when we have made a promise, is it not, old 
fellow?” And Lotty departed to put herself in walking trim, 
Margaret arriving before she returned. 

There was something in Margaret that made it almost impos- 
sible for any one to refuse, did she make a request. This might 
arise, in the first place, from the fact, that she seldom had a 
favor to ask which was not to be more gratifying to the con- 
ferrer than to herself. 

In the second place, there was such a low, sweet tone in her 
voice, that no one could answer until the soft sound ceased. 
Thus Margaret could plead all her arguments ere she was inter- 
rupted. 

Thirdly, the simple earnestness of her manner made all her 
requests seem to be such, that it became not weak, mortal man 
to resist an angel’s pleading. And then her beauty — the Leighs 
ever paid a sort of devotion to beauty ; so that all these things 
combined, when Lotty joined them, she found Margaret had 
asked, Philip had consented, and they were to spend a week at 
Court Leigh. 

“ Horrid bore ! ” said Philip, as he returned from handing 
Margaret into her carriage. 44 Do you hear me?” he continued ; 
“ this is a horrid bore ! ” 

44 Going to Court Leigh, Philip?” answered Lotty. 

44 Yes,” said Philip, 44 to be tormented by the silliest lot ot 
people I ever met.” 

44 I suppose we need not go, unless you like it,” said Lotty. 

Philip was silent ; he had made the remark in order to extort 
from Lotty whether Margaret and herself had not made the plan 
first, and also if Lotty was anxious to go. He could find out 
neither the one nor the other, so he was forced to speak out. 

44 Pray did you and Lady Leigh arrange this invitation be- 
fore you consulted me ? ” 

44 Margaret told me she meant to ask us. I told her to write 
to you, and Millicent said she had better ask viva voce.” 

44 I knew it was a concerted scheme. I felt sure I was to be 
dragged into an unexpected consent. I shall not go ! ” 

44 Very well,” said Lotty. 

44 Of course, you wish to go?” said Philip. 

44 I am afraid Bear and I are not so amiable. We would 
rather visit Margaret alone, would we not, Bear, after that sad, 
naughty conversation we had ? ” 

44 1 suppose we must go,” said Philip, “ as I promised.” 


152 


MARGARET 


“ Just as you please, Philip.” 

He looked at her, putting his fishing-rod together with her 
little white fingers. He knew she spoke the truth, but nothing 
prompted him to say, “ I am sorry, Lotty, that I fancied other- 
wise.” 

Gerald allowed no private thoughts to interfere with his duties 

at the school. As soon as that was over, with strong, vigorous 

strides he took his way, five miles off, to Dr. Murray. The 

good doctor, knowing the character of his visitor, made no 

secret of his fears regarding Mrs. Herbert’s health . 

© © 

“ I should,” said he, “ be very uneasy, indeed, but for her 
present condition. Her child born, I then shall be able to judge 
how much her constitution is affected, and how much may be 
imputed to this cause.” 

“ And iu case of the former, Dr. Murray?” asked Gerald. 

“ Why, then, Mrs. Herbert must go, for a year or two, to a 
warmer climate.” 

“ To save her life? ” murmured Gerald, hoarsely. 

“ Nothing else can save it, my dear sir,” answered the kind 
doctor ; “ she seems to me to have been born with a good con- 
stitution, but to have been badly nursed, or neglected.” 

u That is true,” said Gerald, calling to remembrance the early 
hardships of Millicent’s childhood. 

“You -may rely upon one thing, Mr. Herbert; deeply as I 
know you will feel anything I may have to say, you shall have 
the truth as nakedly placed before you as my science or skill 
shows it to me.” 

“ Thanks ! thanks ! ” was all that Gerald could mutter ; and 
he strode away over the hills, to wrestle with the sorrow that 
seemed bending like a dark cloud over his head. 

To save her life, he must leave his charge, his duties, his 
people. He needed a clearer head than was his at present to 
solve the question as to which he ought to do. Love and 
nature pleaded loudly, duty and conscience seemed sternly 
to rebuke them. As he turned his face homewards, beset 
with such feelings of irresolution as had never before assailed 
that firm, upright mind, he met Harold, returning on horse- 
back from a tour of inspection. Gerald knew that the day 
was oppressively hot, which might, iu some degree, account for 
the vexation and weariness apparent on Harold’s countenance. 

A warning voice seemed to tell him, “ Pass on, and say 
nothing.” But would that be acting the part of a conscientious, 
just, and righteous pastor of his people? 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


153 


“ My dear Sir Harold,” said he, laying his hand upon the 
horse’s rein, 44 suffer me to say a few words to you.” 

An expression passed over Harold’s face, which told, as words 
tell, that it wanted but this drop of vexation to brim the already 
full cup. 

44 I am in a hurry,” he said, with all the Leigh sulkiness 
grafted on the Leigh obstinacy. 

44 I will detain you but a moment,” said Gerald, his late feel- 
ings lending unusual softness to his manner ; 44 will you oblige 
me by not employing the Joneses?” 

44 They are the best workmen on the estate!” exclaimed 
Harold. 

44 But the worst men, Sir Harold ; their characters are too 
notorious to be unknown to you ; and the Browns, who have 
had very little work from Mr. Price, are the reverse — church- 
going, religious, quiet, sober people ; they are at present almost 
starving for want of employment.” 

44 And pray, Mr. Herbert, are you aware,” said Harold, turn- 
ing pale with anger, 44 that Price was obliged to discharge your 
highly-principled Browns, because, occupied, I suppose, with 
their prayers and Bibles, their work was totally useless ? Every- 
thing they did had to be done over again.” 

44 Do not scoff, Sir Harold ; it may be true that the Joneses 
have the worldly advantage of knowing their trade better, but 
should that be the plea of a man gifted with every attribute of 
sense and discernment that the Great Father of us all can be- 
stow'? should that blind him to the one great, fearful fact, that, 
by employing such men, you give them the means of committing 
sin? You put into their hands the power of damning their 
immortal souls forever ; you place others in the dangerous vor- 
tex of contamination. O, Sir Harold, be warned, be advised ! ” 

44 I’ll warn myself of one thing, I’ll be advised of one fact,” 
said Harold, in a lordty, Leigh passion. 44 You have spoken 
your last word to me, you prating parson ! You have looked 
your last look as a friend ! Not employ any person I choose, 
ha ! — Take your pick and choice, ha ! — I am likely to do it ! 
I feel disposed, truly, to lose the best workman I have, because 
he does not pray in a becoming fashion ! and I am to take any 
fool that offers, provided he goes to church — ha ! ” 

And he galloped away with an oath on his lips, and anger in 
his heart, while Gerald stopped to pray for him, with nothing 
but pity in his heart. And yet, Gerald, did you not remember 
your Master’s precepts, who talked with publicans and sinners, 


154 


MARGARET 


who blessed the peacemakers, who fed the hungry, healed the 
sick, forgave the wretched ? 

Did he ask out of the five thousand who were fed with the five 
barley loaves and two fishes, who were holy, who were sinners ? 

Did he demand of the leper, the blind, the lame, “ Why are 
ye such sinners ? I heal but the holy and good.” 

Did he not forgive the wretched as they looked on him, the 
sinners as they touched the hem of his garment? Gerald, why 
deem it part of your sacred, holy calling to be judge ? why pass 
sentence on the sinner, weak, wavering, or wicked, ere death 
has sealed up his last hope ? Rather help him on his stumbling 
path, with cheering, persuasive words ; with examples, not com- 
mands ; with deeds, not judgments ; with hope and energy, not 
despair and doom. Help the weak sinner on his weary way, 
raise not up before him the steep mountain of perfection, but let 
the hill of duty and difficulty slope gently to his sight, until 
strengthened by exercise, invigorated by hope, he looks behind 
at what he has surmounted, and gathering joy and assurance 
from the sight, he views the higher hill and steeper path, that 
rise, but as brighter goals to win, fairer scenes to view, until at 
last heaven rewards his sight. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Either alarmed at the account of Millicent, or wishful to see 
her before he started on his yacht excursion with his half- 
brothers, Basil arrived about this time, accompanied by the boys. 

They formed a very fine addition to the party at Court Leigh, 
spending most of their time there, to relieve Hilly of too much 
of their company. Basil was all life and spirits, the boys wild 
with joy, and so full of Lotty and her dog, that neither she nor 
Bear had time to pass severer judgments on Flo. and Carry. 
Harold alone was in a vile humor ; not even Basil could smooth 
him down ; and Philip was nearly as bad. 

It had formed no part of his plans for the week they were to 
spend at Court Leigh, that Lotty was to be happy. But she 
was most provokingly so, renewing her acquaintance with the 
young Erles, and consorting with Basil, until her husband was 
driven half mad with jealousy cad vexation. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


155 


As for Brian and Hugh Erie, in true boy-fashion, they made 
no secret of their admiration for Mrs. Leigh. 

“ Lucky for you I am only fifteen,” said Hugh to Philip, “ or 
I would fight you.” 

“ No, you should not have her,” said Brian ; “I would fight 
the world for her.” 

Most men would have felt rather flattered as well as amused 
at their boyish enthusiasm ; but the words sunk like poisonous 
weeds into Philip’s jealous heart. 

Augusta surprised everybody by her pale looks and subdued 
manner; perhaps some might have noticed the burning blush 
that rushed over her face as Philip bowed to her with over- 
strained, and, as it were, mock courtesy, on their first greeting ; 
but in a day or so she recovered, and was quite herself. 

“ Well, my dear,” said Flo., “ here we are met again once 
more ; really it is quite delightful, especially as I have been 
longing to show you my darling Fred ; to my eyes he stands 
foremost as the flower of the flock.” 

“ In what way?” said Augusta, coldly. 

“Why, of all the six husbands of us six school-girls — O! 
by the by, my dear, I beg pardon — I quite forgot you do not 
possess one yet. However, never mind, I dare say your turn 
will come shortly. I know a cousin of Fred’s, to whom I dare 
say I could introduce you ; very, very like him, dear fellow ! 
only not nearly so handsome, and shorter, with rather red hair, 
but very amiable. He would do anything I tell him, he is so 
sensible ; so we will have you two together, and see if we cannot 
manage it. But, as I was saying, not one of all the husbands 
equals my dearest Frederick iu my eyes.” 

“ I should hope not, Flo.,” said Lotty. 

“ Ah ! there you are, you little sarcastic Bear ; but I know 
well enough what you mean, poor little dear ! However, we 
will say nothing ; it is not every one who is so fortunate as 
I am.” 

“ Dear little darling ! ” interrupted a voice, by her side ; “ is 
it waking, little pet ! and would it stretch its itty pretty arms ? ” 

u Bless me, what a fool you make of yourself, Carry ! ” said 
Flo., u as if there never had been a baby before ; besides, you 
really must allow me to give you a little advice. It is very 
inconvenient, not to say disagreeable, always to have a baby in 
the drawing-room.” 

“ You must do without my company, then, if you dislike that 
of my darling child.” 


156 


MARGARET 


“ We will try and bear the loss, all the more from knowing 
that you will not miss us.” 

44 It is a mother’s duty to attend to her child, precious, help- 
less thing ! ” 

44 Then where is the use of your having a nurse, I should like 
to know? My dear, I never like to interfere in other people’s 
matters, but I think it my duty to tell you, as my oldest school 
friend, that you and your baby are perfect plagues.” 

44 Thank you ! ” said Carry, with bitter civility ; and, catching 
up her child’s paraphernalia, she also swept herself and it out 
of the room. 

44 There ! I thought I should banish her ; now we will have a 
little rational conversation. I make a point of always speaking 
the truth to Carry, and I mean further to tell her that she ought 
to take a lesson from Margaret. By the by, where is Marga- 
ret? running after Sir Harold, I’ll be bound; now mark my 
words, she will sicken him of her company. Though my dearest 
Frederick says he would never leave my side night or day, I 
won’t permit .it ; I say, 4 No, Frederick, I know the upshot of it 
all ; ’ and besides, what is more tiresome than having a man 
dangling after you all day? no time for nice little chats about 
fashions, dresses, and one’s lovers.” 

44 I suppose you have done with the latter now,” said Lotty. 

44 Ah ! ah ! sly little puss ! ” said Flo. ; 44 but at all events, if 
I have done, or ought to have done, Augusta has not ; now, 
my dear, do tell us, give us a history of all your lovers.” 

Flo. had a very unladylike habit of winking with one eye ; 
and, as she made this remark, she winked at Lotty with unmis- 
takable meaning. She meant to make Augusta rehearse all her 
nbs about Philip and others, by which she and Lotty would have 
some fun. 

44 Anything the matter with your eye ? ” said Lotty, in answer 
to the wink, and thinking it quite fair she should also have her 
amusement. 

44 My eye? no, child ; what an innocent you are ! ” 

44 If she is,” said Augusta, loftily, 44 1 am not ; and did I 
think it needful to punish vulgar impertinence, Mrs. Bankes 
should know my opinion of her.” 

44 Which, luckily, is of no consequence to Mrs. Bankes,” said 
that lady, with -high gusto at having provoked Augusta. 44 Non- 
sense, my dear ! don’t get up on your stilts ; for though we 
know little Lotty cut you out, you have had a narrow escape. 
I am sure when I look at that man, really, my dear Lotty, I 
quite shudder ! ” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


U7 


“ Why do you look at him then?” said Lotty. 

“ What a little imperturbable thing it is,” said Flo., looking a 
little disconcerted. 

“ I think,” said Augusta, “ it is no mark of good breeding, 
Mrs. Bankes, to speak thus of a man before his wife.” 

“But Lotty knows my way, and that I must ever speak as I 
think. Not but what he is wonderfully handsome, and what 
you call very distingue-looking ; and upon the whole, I don’t 
wonder, Augusta, that you have fretted so about him, for you 
would have made a very striking couple — he is so dark, and 
you so fair ; in fact, you would have suited him, in point of 
appearance and contrast, much better than Lotty.” 

“ I am sorry I cannot make him over to you now, Augusta,” 
said Lotty ; “I am afraid the law would interfere.” 

“ Spare your pity, child ; no one envies you,” replied Augusta, 
looking at Lotty with anything but loving eyes. 

“No, that they don’t. Heavens ! how he scowls at those fine 
boys ! By the by, how handsome Lord Erlscourt is ! now there 
is a man for you ! except my own Frederick, I never saw one 
whom I could sooner trust with my affections.” 

Lotty laughed merrily, partly at the idea of comparing the 
little, insignificant Bankes with Basil, partly at Flo.’s thinking 
she had any affections. 

“ Why do you laugh, child?” said Flo., who, though perfectly 
well satisfied with herself in every respect, yet was keenly alive 
to ridicule. 

“ Do you really wish to know?” 

“ Yes, of course, I desire it.” 

“ Then, because Basil would make two Mr. Bankes, and your 
affections are always placed on your last new dress.” 

“ What a little pert thing ! however, my dear, you are so far 
right, I love a new dress. I think it is my duty, for Frederick’s 
sake, to dress well. So you call him ‘ Basil ; ’ very familiar, 
upon my word ; and pray what does my Lord say to that ? ” 

“ lie has never said anything as yet.” 

“ Then take my advice, my dear, and don’t do it again, or 
we shall be having mischief. I am a very good judge in such 
matters; I shall never forget Frederick and those clerks at his 
father’s bank. Really he looked as if ho could eat them all.” 

“ Rather an indigestible meal,” said Lotty. 

“ Funny little thing you are, to be sure, Lotty ! I don’t c 
much wonder now that the Grand Turk fancied you instead of 
Augusta, you are so amusing ; though, certainly, to my taste, 
14 


158 


MARGARET 


you, Augusta, are far the handsomer, and you have such a 
figure too ! really you can carry off any style of dress, and any 
number of flounces — and do you know, my dear, they are get- 
ting to nine in number. Unlucky for you, Lotty, as 1 don't see 
how you could wear more than three.” 

“ That is why I try to exist without any,” said Lotty. 

u You certainly do, and always did, dress in a peculiar style, 
that no one else could bear, I fancy ; but it quite becomes you, 
my dear ; and little and childish as you are, Lotty, you have a 
pretty face. But I must go and see after Margaret. A fine 
thing, indeed ! dragging us down all the way from London, and 
then shutting herself up all day with Sir Harold.” 

Flo. seemed to have been as successful in probing Si” Harold 
and Lady Leigh’s weak points, as she had been in finding out 
Augusta’s and Carry’s ; for Harold was seen passing tire win- 
dows in a fiery mood, while Margaret joined them with her fair 
face unusually flushed. 


CHAPTER XL. 

Harold had cause to be vexed : his Margaret had not sym- 
pathized with him as he expected on Gerald’s account ; besides, 
he had had a short and concise letter from his bankers : 

u Messrs. Moneypenny’s compliments to Sir Harold Leigh, 
Bart., and beg to draw his attention to his cash account, &c., 
&c.” 

For a few moments he gazed on the items mentioned in the 
letter in blank dismay. Then the first pang of ruin and poverty 
rushed through Harold’s heart ; while the large quantity of re- 
pairs in hand, which, if pursued, would swell those horrible 
items into twice the amount, appalled him. 

He rang furiously for Mr. Price, who arrived in due time. 

“ Look there ! ” said Sir Harold. 

“ I am not surprised,” said Price, blandly, and rubbing his 
hands in a provokingly easy manner. 

“ AVhat the devil do you mean, Price?” 

“ Of course, Sir Harold, I expected no less. I am only sur- 
prised it is not more.” 

“ If you do not wish to drive me mad, speak out, man, and 
tell me what is the meaning of that letter.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


159 


“ You have overdrawn your account, Sir Harold.” 

Mr. Price, the account, and the bankers, were all sent, one 
after another, to a very hot place by Sir Harold ; and finding 
that his master was in no mood to be trifled with, Mr. Price at 
last condescended to speak out. 

“ You know, Sir Harold, I warned you not to take so much 
upon you at once ; I kept advising you to do a little at a time ; 
but my Lady, you see, Sir Harold, my Lady would go among 
the people, and she got your ear, Sir Harold, when I was not 
permitted to speak, old and valued servant as I have been to 

the family ” Here Mr. Price made a demonstration of 

emotion. 

u Hang your foolery, man ! come at once to the point, and 
let me know how I am to get out of this mess.” 

11 Perhaps,” said Price, maliciously (for he was a rogue now, 
though he might not have been one when he first became agent 
of the Leigh estates), “ perhaps, Sir Harold, you would like to 
consult with my Lord Erlscourt ; his opinion has ever ” 

Harold interrupted him with another violent exclamation, 
proving to Mr. Price that his shot had told. 

For after all he had boasted, and still was boasting to Basil, 
how was he to tell him the real state of the case ? — more 
especially as Basil had told him the same thing as Mr. Price, 
namely, not to do too much at a time. 

“ We may certainly fell a little more timber, and there is the 
half year’s rent coming, in six weeks,” continued Price. 

“ Three thousand five hundred pounds ! What a drop that is 
to liquidate such a debt, man, and we to live too ! ” said Harold. 

“ If you, Sir Harold, could persuade my Lady to reduce the 
establishment a little.” 

Mr. Price hated “ my Lady,” and he knew Harold could 
not bear her name mentioned by him ; so he was prepared for 
another burst of wrath, and then a dismissal to think over the 
matter. This all took place after breakfast ; and Margaret, 
knowing the lines of Harold’s face as the lover of Nature traces 
the coming storm, was appalled as she entered his study to ask 
if he required her for any business. He sullenly folded up the 
letter ; men do not like women to see that they have been fool- 
ish or unwise. 

“ That idiot Price says we are doing too many repairs, and 
shall shortly want money.” 

“ Have you not the fifteen thousand pounds my father left, 
Harold?” 


160 


MARGARET 


“ More than half is gone ; a part I spent in the first payment 
for our yacht, Margaret.” 

“ O, sell it again, dear Harold ! ” said Margaret, quickly. 

“ Sell the yacht ! give up the thing I have been so full of all 
the winter, Margaret ! I little thought you would be so unkind, 
unjust.” 

u Not unjust, Harold ; our people ” 

“ I hate the people ! Why should I spend my money on a lot 
of ungrateful rascals? I will leave them all. I will shut up 
Court Leigh, and we will go to the Mediterranean, Margaret, 
make a home of the yacht, and living in those lovely, luxurious 
climes, we. shall be free from all trouble and care.” 

“But our duty, Harold?” 

Harold sent duty off after Mr. Price, the cash account, and 
the bankers, making Margaret’s cheek pale with the first scene 
of violent temper that he had displayed before her. In the heat 
of his anger, he accused her of selfishness, cant, hypocrisy, want 
of love, coalition with Gerald, and was winding up with a 
strong bias to send her after Duty, when the door opened and 
the amiable face of Mrs. Bankes made its appearance. 

“ Hoity-toity ! here’s a scene ! ” said she, highly pleased at 
having arrived at this crisis ; “ who would have thought, Sir 
Harold, that you shut Margaret up here, merely to favor her 
with a matrimonial exhibition of passion? I am glad to see 
Margaret has enough spirit in her to oppose you, as I suppose 
you don’t get into rages for nothing. I always thought her such 
a meek-spirited wife.” 

“ Whatever you thought, Mrs. Bankes,’-’ said Harold, recover- 
ing himself on the instant, all his usual high-bred courtesy in 
his voice and manner, “ Lady' Leigh has the advantage tills time 
of being in the right, and I have to apologize to you, my dear 
wife, for an exhibition of temper, which I trust is my first and 
last before you.” He kissed her hand as he spoke, and left the 
room. 

“ Upon my word, very pretty ! and so this is the first time he 
ever got into a rage with you. Well, take care ; the leap once 
taken, be very careful, and not irritate him again. I am a very 
good judge of character, and these Leighs have very odd tempers. 
Put then? out, my dear, and they are mad, raving. How thank- 
ful I am my dearest Frederick has such a sweet, feminine dispo 
sition ! Upon my word, I feel for you and Lotty, indeed I do.” 

This was said at the drawing-room door, so that Lotty heard 
it, and said, — 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


161 


“ Why are Margaret and T such objects of pity?” 

“Ah! my dear,” said Flo., winking violently at Margaret, 
“ little pitchers have long ears.” 

“ I consider Mr. Bankes the object of most pity in the 
world,” said Augusta, with emphasis. 

“ To be sure, my dear,” said the imperturbable Flo., in her 
most irritating manner ; “I understand, because . he is not 
blessed with your lovely hand. Great pity, indeed, that he 
should merely choose a sweet, amiable, lively, agreeable wife, 
instead of such a charmer as you, my dear.” 

“ So that is your estimate of yourself, is it, Flo. ? ” said Lotty, 
hastily, to prevent an explosion of wrath from the angry Augusta. 

“And a very just one, too. I hold that person to be a fool 
who has not a tolerable good opinion of himself.” 

“ Especially when they think of nothing else than' themselves, 
they ought to be perfect in the study,” said Augusta. 

“Very true, my dear ; besides, if one has not a good opinion 
of one’s self, who else -will, I should like to know ? ” 

“ 4 Who else,’ Flo. ? what grammar ! ” said Lotty, trying to 
turn the conversation. 

“ Grammar or not, Lotty, it is language pretty well under- 
stood by those who would rather not understand it. You and I 
never indulged in any flirtations by which our consciences would 
be harmed ; we never said we had offers when we had not ; we 
never told ” 

“ Florence, we are not at school,” interrupted Margaret, her 
lovely face assuming such a reproving and severe look, that even 
Florence was startled ; “ such bickerings ’were disgraceful then, 
how much more so now.” 

She left the room, and Augusta followed her. 

“ Well, to be sure ! my Lady Leigh is taking enough upon her ; 
she forgets I am a married woman too. I have a good mind to 
tell Fred, of her conduct : as if I were a school-girl still. 
I think I will. He will flare up, I know, and tell Sir Harold his 
mind about his wife.” 

“ Then they will have a duel, Flo., and Sir Harold will shoot 
Mr. Bankes,” said Lotty. 

Flo. was for a moment abashed, but presently resumed with 
renewed vigor, — 

“ Not at all, my dear ; my dearest Fred, may shoot him, and 
serve him right, too, thinking of such bloody-minded revenge. 
And your husband might be his second if he chose, and I’d 

have Lord Erlscourt for Fred.’s ” 

14 * 


162 


MARGARET 


“And Brian and Hugh to hold the pistols, while you and I look 
on to see fair play.” 

“ Come, Lotty, I won’t have you treat as a jest what is a very 
serious matter.” 

“ 0 ! I thought you were in jest. I never imagined a woman, 
possessed of a dearest Fred., could coolly sit down and arrange a 
duel for him, just because Margaret desired to have Augusta’s 
feelings spared.” 

“ To be sure, my dear, who could, indeed? ” said Flo., rapidly 
turning round under the fear of being laughed at; “Augusta 
always makes such mountains out of nothing. No wonder one 
does not know which is the head and which is the tail of what 
she is doing. But, poor thing ! we ought to pity her — she is 
quite soured. I am sure, if I am thankful for anything, it is that 
I have a good temper. Nothing puts me out. 1 declare, here is 
Lady Katherine marching up the .avenue, like an old swan, with 
Miss Leigh two steps behind her. What a regular old maid she 
is ! getting red at the nose, too. Would not it be fun to get her 
into a flirtation ? Poor old thing ! I dare say she does not know 
what the word means. I think I will give her a little advice on 
the matter. I am fond of helping on affairs like that ; and 
though I never make or meddle, a little word often excites 
a flame.” 


i 


CHAPTER XL I. 

Margaret knew, in spite of Harold’s control over himself, 
that, as long as the matter remained on his mind, he would talk 
of it. She was fully persuaded he would keep his promise, and 
suffer no harsh words to reach her ear, as if for herself, but that 
he must disburden his vexation by talking it away : she pre- 
pared herself ; and it needed preparation, for the scenes that she 
had to go through. To combat the resolution to leave home, 
people, and everything, that he might lead a quiet, listless, yet 
delicious life, in fairer, warmer climes, she knew required every 
exertion on her part, would call forth every power of love and 
persuasion. And she was to do this ; she who felt that, with 
Harold, a cottage, a palace, the frozen seas, the torrid zone, were 
alike home to her. 

And yet his immortal welfare, his eternal happiness, required 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


163 


him to remember that he lived not for himself alone. He must 
dwell where God had placed him, to perform his allotted task of 
life. 

For those she loved, Margaret was unequalled in her devotion 
and firmness. Again and again Harold argued the point ; again 
and again Margaret resisted his appeal. It is true, he gave her 
no harsh words ; it is true, he indulged in no outward passion ; 
but it burned within all the more freely, that it was smothered 
outwardly, until one evening Margaret suggested that they should 
consult Basil. From that moment Harold shut his thoughts up 
in sullen silence. 

Mrs. Bankes had been favoring him with a few of her ideas 
upon Lord Erlscourt’s evident pleasure in Lady Leigh’s society, 
which, in comparison to what he felt in hers, certainly could bear 
no investigation. A few embellished facts of their former friend- 
ship, a few imaginary notions which she felt it her duty to tell 
Sir Harold, made him, in his present mood, forget his wife’s 
devoted love, Basil’s noble confidence. 

Mrs. Bankes had also, with the zeal and energy of character 
on which she prided herself, made Mr. Royston see that his wife 
was a greater fool than he had first imagined her ; and being 
perfectly satisfied with the happy result produced in both these 
cases, she looked round to see whose condition she could 
further improve. 

Fortunately for Lotty, she was rather afraid of Philip, and 
determined, in her own mind, to leave his welfare to the last ; 
so she took Lotty under her kind protection, associating her with 
the perpetual stings that she was inflicting on Augusta through- 
out all her other operations. It became hard to say which 
Augusta hated most. That she nourished in her heart feelings 
of bitter hatred and envy towards Lotty, has been seen ; and 
though her better judgment might have shown her that Lotty 
had nothing to do with Flo.’s vulgar impertinence, still she 
hated on. 

Born in a family whose principal characteristics consisted of 
beauty and badness, and who consequently had neither any love 
for each other, nor any respectability to keep up, it was but too 
true that Augusta deserved a great deal of the censure with 
which Mrs. Bankes overwhelmed her ; but reproved in this 
coarse manner, brought to shame by a woman whom she des- 
pised for her vulgarity, yet feared for her insufferable assurance, 
every bad passion in Augusta’s heart was roused. She had 
come down with the firm determination to mar Lotty’s matrimo- 


164 


MARGARET 


nial happiness, no matter how she came out of the encounter 
herself, so that her purpose was fulfilled. But it required very 
little observation to see that Philip, morose as he was to her, 
loved his little child-wife with idolatry ; while she, Lotty, the 
being she wished to hurt, injure, overwhelm with grief and 
despair, would probably mourn for him as the pitying angels 
mourn over sinners, but at the same time would rejoice in any 
act that restored her once more to her beloved Beauvillians. 

Thus Augusta felt she was powerless ; and her heart grew 
sick and sad within her, when she compared herself to her five 
school-fellows. Not that she cared for^or envied, Florence and 
Caroline ; thank Heaven ! though they were married, she did 
not envy them. But, from her childhood, this one idea had 
been placed prominently before her — she was to marry, and 
that as early as possible. 

Her father, without having any great liking for domestic life, 
had yet been severely tried in his endeavors to do his duty in 
that line ; for, after some years of most uncomfortable eccen- 
tricity, his wife had become permanently insane, leaving to his 
care and management three wild boys and one pretty girl. As 
she grew up, Augusta discovered that she was only held in 
esteem by her immediate relatives and guardians, according to 
her promise of beauty. And she had not the pleasure of think- 
ing they were proud of and delighted in her appearance, because 
she was their daughter and sister, but because a female relative 
was a very tiresome burden, and they wanted to ease their 
shoulders of the care as soon as possible. 

Thus, without love to soften her, without principles to guide 
her, no wonder she looked to marriage as the only possible relief 
to an unpleasant and somewhat forlorn situation. 

But being deficient in feminine tact, and gentle wiles, she had 
been too open in her endeavors, too barefaced to escape censure, 
besides failing in her object. 

She would have hated Margaret, had it been possible, for 
beguiling Sir Harold, and so exposing her to the taunts and 
upbraidings of her family. 

She did hate Lotty, because she felt, had she gained Philip 
Leigh, she would have loved him, and for his sake have become 
all that a woman should be. 

She felt that she had compromised her character most seri- 
ously, and*, her father being dead, she had but her wild and 
dissipated brothers to fall back upon, whose companionship was 
much eschewed by well-disposed folk. Thus her situation was 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


165 


truly deplorable, and it required no stings from Mrs. Bankes’s 
flippant tongue to make it worse. Had she but made a con- 
fidant of Margaret or Millicent, had she crushed her proud and 
irritated spirit, there might have been some hope. But at pres- 
ent she was becoming reckless ; and knowing that when she left 
Court Leigh, she would have but a rough and unkind reception 
from the only home open to her, she was determined in some 
way to set a seal upon her fate. 

Yet how? 

It was useless remaining much longer in Cheshire. Court 
Leigh was unlike the Court Leigh of the former visit. A gloom 
hung over everything, casting its foreboding shadow on a 
doomed house. 

Lord Erlscourt was unmarried, it is true, but experience told 
her “ ’twere vain to try” to attract him. His brothers were such 
complete boys ; and besides, the elegant Miss Clare was not at 
all to their taste : they were just at the age to despise flounces, 
feathers, and dress, which Miss Clare delighted in. Yet where 
to go ? Her thoughts rushed for a second towards “ dear Fred.’s 
red-haired cousin,” — but no, that was too humiliating ; and the 
sound of Flo.’s active tongue, making itself heard through the 
long avenue, above the rustling of the leaves, and the twittering 
of the birds, ^ave her such a shock, that to go off to Australia 
with a gold-digger seemed preferable. She drew near to the 
speakers to escape her thoughts. 

“ My dear Lord Erlscourt,” was Mrs. Bankes saying, “ how 
you do spoil those boys ! Now take my advice, or you will one 
day repent it — they will turn upon you.” 

Basil was lying on the grass, his half-brothers hanging about 
him, and teasing him every minute with questions ; in fact, they 
wanted to rouse Basil from his book, that he might come with 
them on some favorite excursion. 

Basil looked lovingly at his boys. 

“ There is always ill blood between half-brothers,” pursued 
Mrs. Bankes. “ I should not be doing my duty if I did not 
warn you, my Lord. Remember you are not married, and 
have no heirs. It will be a fine thing for one of them to 
become Lord Erlscourt.” 

“ He will make a very fine Lord Erlscourt, madam,” said 
Basil, as he laid his hand on Brian’s dark curls. 

“ I ! Lord Erlscourt ? ” said Brian ; “ never, Basil ; when 
you die, I shall die.” 

“ So shall I,” said Hugh ; “we could not live without you, 
brother,” 


166 


MARGARET 


“ Ah ! young gentleman, that’s all very fine. Just wait till 
your brother has a family.” 

“ lie has,” said Brian ; “ we all live with him.” 

11 1 mean married, my dear, with children of his own.” 

“ I am not 1 your dear,’ ma’am,” retorted Brian, angrily ; 
“ and I wish Basil was married, and I wish he had married 
Mrs. Leigh.” 

“ And may I ask, young man,” said Philip, haughtily, “ why 
you should have fixed on my wife for such an honor ? ” 

“ Because I love her, and so does Hugh ; and we think, yes, 
we both think ” 

“ And Basil thinks,” interrupted Lord Erlscourt, “ that you 
are a couple of foolish boys.” 

“ I insist upon hearing what he was going to say ! ” exclaimed 
Philip, hotly. 

“0!” said Brian, nothing loth, “ we think she is a great 
deal too good for you. If we had Mrs. Leigh to live with us, 
she should be treated as a queen, which she deserves.” 

Philip stretched out his hand to seize the boy, livid with 
rage. The active fellows were up and away, with Philip after 
them ; they enjoying the fun, he in a towering passion. 

“Well,” said Mrs. Bankes, making the most of the oppor- 
tunity of having Lord Erlscourt all to herself, u your boys have 
served him right, great brute ! always snubbing that poor little 
thing, who runs her legs off to please him.” 

“ She does not look unhappy, Mrs. Bankes.” 

u No, she dare not, or I am sure he would beat her. Really, 
it is shocking to think Ifow Margaret and Lotty have thrown 
themselves away on those mad Leighs ! ” 

“ Mad ! ” said Basil. 

“ Yes, mad,” said Mrs. Bankes ; “ cannot you see it in their 
eyes ? ” 

u But there is no madness in the family, madam.” 

“ Why, no, I suppose not,” said Mrs. Bankes, reluctantly ; 
“ but then how can you account for Sir Harold’s jealousy 
of you ? ” 

“ Of me, Mrs. Bankes?” 

“ Yes, of you ; any mole can see it.” 

Mrs. Bankes was rather alarmed at Lord Erlscourt’s raising 
himself from the ground at one spring, and preparing to depart. 

u Where are you going?” she said. 

“ To Sir Harold ” 

u 0, mercy me, don’t ! You will have a quarrel ! There 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


167 


will be a duel ! They will trace it to me ! There will be such 
a scene! — and Frederick — 0, my dear Frederick! — he will 
be drawn in. 0, for mercy’s sake, my Lord! — for goodness 
gracious sake, don’t ! ” 

44 Then, madam, will you be kind enough to tell me if you 
really think what you said, that Sir Harold Leigh is jealous of 
me, Lord Erlscourt?” 

44 I never heard him say — I don’t quite know ; but Frederick 
and I were saying ” 

44 Madam, if you cannot say yes or no, I shall depart to seek 
Sir Harold.” 

44 O, 4 yes,’ then I’ll say, or 4 no,’ or whatever you wish,” said 
the alarmed Mrs. Bankes. 

44 That will not suit me. You must state on what grounds* 
your information is founded.” 

44 Well, Frederick and I ” 

44 Do you mean, madam, that Mr. Bankes and you think so? ’ 

44 We had just a few suspicions.” 

44 And have you heard that any other person has? ” 

44 No, never ; no, not a word ! It was only Frederick and 1 
talking.” 

44 Then, madam, allow me to say, that if I hear such a thing 
again, or a word whispered, or any thing of a similar kind, in 

this house, said by you or Mr. Bankes, I shall ” 

- 44 He’ll duck Mr. Bankes in the horsepond,” interrupted Brian, 

who, with Hugh, had returned unperceived from their race with 
Philip. 

44 Yes, and then horsewhip him with his best hunting whip,” 
continued Hugh. 

“ And if you or he tease Basil any more, we’ll shoot him ! ” 
concluded they, in a breath. 

44 Hush, boys ! ” said Basil ; 44 you must never threaten a 
lady.” 

And with a low bow to the discomfited Mrs. Bankes, he de- 
parted, bearing both the boys with him. 

44 Well ! if I did not give him a fine fright,” said Mrs. Bankes 
to herself, recovering her spirits as soon as they departed out 
of sight. 44 Ah ! here is that good little thing, Lotty. Here’s 
my Lord gone off at a tangent, and Mr. Leigh has had to rush 
after those two rude boys, to give them a good flogging, which I 
am sure they deserve ; more’s the pity they did not get it — - 
and all about you, too.” 

44 1 dare say you had a helping hand in the mischief, Flo,” 


168 


MARGARET 


“ All ! that is always what you used to say at school, Lotty ; 
but you never were more mistaken in any one’s character in 
your life. I am just the reverse of that — quiet and peaceable ; 
I never make nor meddle.” 

• “ I will hear the rest of your character when I return,” said 
Lotty ; “ but, at present, tell me which way did Philip go.” 

“ So you would go after him, would you ? Take my advice 
now, and keep out of the way. He was like a demon, my dear ; 
his teeth set, his eyes on fire, his face like a sheet, always a sign 
of intense passion. — O! she is gone, and the right way, too. 
Well, if she will go, she will, and must take the consequences. 
I meant to have shown her quite the contrary direction, if she 
had persisted in asking me ; but, however, I have done my duty, 

. and who can do more? She is a very odd little thing, that 
Lotty. I am not sure that she is all right, there is such a child- 
ish way with her. Yet, with those eyes of hers, how she looks 
one through, as if she could read everything one was thinking of. 
However, she is welcome to read my thoughts. Thank goodness ! 
I never say anything that I don’t feel, and that is a comfort 
everybody cannot boast of.” 

This wind-up might have been meant for Augusta’s ear, who 
came walking slowly by. If it was, it fell unheeded ; she passed 
the amiable Mrs. Bankes with the air and look of a person who 
did not seem to know there was such a being in the world, while 
the latter joined Carry, and the three continued to walk up and 
down the avenue, Augusta passing but not joining them as they 
conversed. 

“Well, Carry, they are queer people here, are they not? all 
at sixes and sevens.” 

“ Yes,” continued Carry ; “it is very sad to see them all so 
occupied with their own concerns : they never look at the baby.” 

“ No, to be sure ; they have eyes for nothing but themselves 
and their husbands. And such husbands, too, — perfect brutes ! 
But I always thought Margaret held her head a great deal too 
high ; and Millicent, with all her goodness, has got a nice un- 
comfortable lot before her. I would not change my dear Fred, 
for one of them.” 

“ Nor I my sweet baby.” 

“ Well, you might pay Mr. Boyston the compliment of think- 
ing of him, Carry, for he lets you have all your own way.” 

“ Of course, I would not change him for any of them ; and, 
as you say, Flo., they seem all a very unhappy lot, and I sup- 
pose it’s all their own doing/’ 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


169 


u Of course,” returned Flo. 44 If they had acted like you and 
me, Carry, their fates would have been very different ; and that 
poor little Lotty is worse than all. I declare, when I look at 
that dark, morose-looking husband of hers, I fully expect to hear 
some day that he has cut her throat and shot himself.” 

44 Philip Leigh will never hurt himself for any woman,” said 
Augusta, haughtily, as she caught the last words, walking by 
them. 

“I must say, I think he behaved shamefully to you,” said 
Flo. 

44 It is out of the power of any man to trouble me,” retorted 
Augusta. 

44 And that’s the right way to treat them. As I often tell 
Fred, 4 Ah ! you don’t know the annoyance, and trouble, and 
bother you men are. Far better is it. for a poor woman just to 
have no one to care for her but herself.’ As Carry and I were 
just saying, look at those three unhappy creatures, Margaret, 
Miliicent, and Lotty, one worse off than another. I am sure I 
am thankful I am what I am.” 

44 And so am I,” said Carry. 44 1 would not be either of them 
for the world.” 

44 1 am happy in thinking,” returned Augusta, 44 that I envy 
no one ; and I can look on you all with great feelings of com- 
passion, not to say thankfulness, for my own lot.” 

44 Hoity-toity ! ” exclaimed Flo., as soon as Augusta had 
walked off, 44 I smell sour grapes ; and no wonder, poor soul ! 
She will come to grief some day, I’ll be bound. There’s the 
dressing-bell ; run, Carry, or we shall never be in time, and cer- 
tainly I do like plenty of time to make myself tidy, just to please 
Fred. ; and you’ll want to kiss your baby.” 


CHAPTER XL 1 1 . 

As Lotty passed on her way in search of Philip, she overtook 
Basil close by a stile. As she lightly sprang over it, he held the 
hand which he had taken in his to assist her, and staying her 
onward step, he looked into her face with his loving, brotherly 
eyes, just as he was wont to do when he lifted up the pretty face 
to kiss. 


170 


MARGARET. 


“Little Lotty, a shadow in your eyes.” 

“ But not in yours, Basil ; at what were you laughing so 
heartily to yourself? ” 

“ At the unfortunate Mrs. Bankes, Lotty ; she is busying her- 
self so much about all our concerns, that a little more and she 
would make mischief. Thinking it was best to alarm her in a 
style she could understand, I was proceeding to give her a quiet, 
though strong, hint as to the danger of so doing, when the boys 
interrupted us in a rampant manner, and before I could stop 
them, threatened the unfortunate Mr. Bankes with a horsepond. 
a thrashing, and a duel.” 

“ I should think, poor man ! he will be off to-morrow.” 

“ Not a bad thing either, Lotty, though my character will 
suffer through the boys ; for by the time Mrs. Bankes reaches 
London, she will have persuaded herself that I had not only 
threatened, but actually executed my threats, even though her 
beloved Frederick is utiharmed by her side.” 

“ She must have annoyed you very much, Basil, before you 
would even give her a strong hint, as you call it.” 

“ She could not annoy me, Lotty ; but she may do infinite 
mischief to those I love, and therefore I was not so vexed as I 
might have been at my boys’ rudeness ; it may have the effect 
of stopping her. But, Lotty, why is this shadow in your once 
clear eyes ? ” 

“ The shadow will not remain long, I hope, Basil.” 

“ Why did you marry in such haste, Lotty? ” 

“ Anybody w r ill tell you the reason, if you wish to know, 
Basil.” 

“ Did you not see the sin of marrying without love, little 
one?” 

“ I think it was a sin,” she said, calmly. 

He looked into her truthful eyes. 

“ I forgot I must not longer treat little Lotty as my pet and 
child ; so you must forgive me if I have said aught you do not 
like.” 

“ You would not say to me, Basil, what I should not hear ; 
go on, if there is anything you wish to kuow.” 

“ If you want a brother, may I be the trusted one? not, Lotty, 
because you have not loving brothers in abundance, but they 
love you too well, you understand. I should be alone, but the 
Beauvillians you must consult en masse . .” 

“ I shall want no help, thank you, Basil, all the same. I have 
but to do my duty.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


171 


He looked at the childish face, the girl’s slight form, and might 
have wondered at her answer ; but as he met the steadfast gaze 
of her eyes, and noted the decision and fortitude that played 
round her mouth, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it 
with reverence. 

“ I believe it ; may you have your reward.” 

Lotty pursued her way, talking to Bear as she went. 

“ Come, Bear, find Philip. We must be very kind to him. 
He has been put out by our friend Flo., and we know how 
aggravating she can be. Even Basil was disturbed, Bear, so 
Flo. must have been very naughty. Ah ! Bear, some of these 
days we shall all be happy and at rest ; but this is a sad time, 
and worse is coming. We must wait in patience and hope, 
Bear, preparing for sad things, but doing our duty in everything, 
steadily, and in a good spirit. We are not Carry and Flo., we 
are Lotty and Bear, willing to do all we can. So you know 
where he is, Bear, do you ? — up the dingle ? Then let us make 
haste ; it is late. Flo. has been telling Basil tales, which is very 
naughty. But you are right, Bear ; there he is, lying on the 
grass.” 

Lotty approached Philip, and sat down near him ; he was pale 
as death, and looked as if he had been suffering intense agony ; 
his hand was placed on his side. 

“ What do you here?” at last he said hoarsely. 

“ I came for you.” 

He replied sullenly, — 

“ I am going home.” 

“ Do not move yet, Philip, you may bring on the spasms 
again.” 

“ How do you know I have had spasms?” 

“ Because your lips are blue and your eyes bloodshot.” 

By degrees Philip divulged that, in the race after the two Erie 
boys, he had brought on palpitation of the heart by over-exertion ; 
he said nothing to Lotty of the rage he had been in. 

“We are not above two miles from High Leigh ; shall I go 
home and send the carriage for you ? ” 

u No ! ” he said ; “ we return to Court Leigh. I will not have 
it said that those unmannerly boys drove me away.” 

“They leave to-morrow for good.” 

“ They may go to the devil ! ” said Philip, gloomily. 

While she bathed his hot forehead with the cool spring water, 
and his heart grew calmer under the touch of her little fingers, 
why did not Philip say he thanked her for her true wife’s . duty ? 


172 


MARGARET 


He pondered over her conduct, it is true, and at last said to 
himself, “ I dare say she has a motive for thus acting.” 

After a time Philip and Lotty returned slowly home, and the 
dinner party at Court Leigh passed off much as usual, except 
that Mrs. Bankes was more quiet, and glanced at Lord Erlscourt 
when she indulged in any of her favorite remarks, with a sort 
of pleasing hope that she was not observed. 

Harold was extremely gloomy and unsociable, while Basil and 
his two boys were full of fun and merriment. 

Harold looked from time to time beneath his lowering brows, 
on the fine, frank countenance. The beautiful blue eyes, so 
serious in a calm mood, so mirthful in a happy one, returned 
Harold’s glances with true brotherly love, and might probably 
have had a due effect on his moody temperament ; but Mr. Her- 
bert was announced, and though he came but to request Mar- 
garet’s immediate presence at the Rectory, Harold cased himself 
in an impenetrable cloak of reserve until he left. Then the 
sweet influence of Margaret’s gentle spirit being removed, Har- 
old drank deeply, Mrs. Bankes talked largely, Augusta flirted 
abominably, Mrs. Royston spent the evening with her child, and 
Lotty sat by Lady Katherine, with the two Erie boys playing at 
chess under her surveillance. 

Basil had accompanied Gerald home. 

Lotty was absolutely and advisedly perpetrating a great act 
of mischief against Lady Katherine, and, worse than all, making 
her the principal actor to her own detriment. 

u I trust Margaret may be able to return to-night with a 
pleasing account of Mrs. Herbert.” 

“ I hope so, Lady Katherine ; but I suppose you are aware 
that if all is safely over, Mr. Herbert means still to take his wife 
to Italy for a year.” 

“ I heard something of that, my dear.” 

“ It will be better to take her there before the winter, rather 
than she should risk her precious life in precarious uncertainty 
here. Though the doctor said she might quite recover after her 
confinement, still Gerald is prepared.” 

“ Extremely judicious, my dear Lotty ; but pray with whom 
does he mean to intrust his parish ? ” 

“That is just the point upon which I thought, Lady Kath- 
erine, you could advise. None of us would like a total stranger ; 
so I have bethought myself of a very nice person with whom 
we were intimate at Beau-court, and who was once curate in 
this parish before, Mr. Gray.” . 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


ITS 


u My dear, I remember him ; a very pleasing young man.” 

“ He has been rector for some time of a small living, within 
ten miles of Beau-court. He is everywhere loved and re- 
spected ; and the people here still remember his name with 
gratitude and alfection, though they have not seen him for ten 
years.” 

“ Quite the gentleman, I remember he was, my dear. By- 
the-by ! yes ! — now I think of it — a-hem ” 

Lady Katherine was beginning to remember too much ; so 
Lotty, like a true match-maker, threw her olf the scent, say- 

ing,— 

“ He is much more mild and gentle in his doctrines than 
Gerald ; and as the latter does not intend to give him only a 
curate’s salary, but wishes him to have house and tithes, as if 
he were rector, he will come among us in a very different light 
to what he was before.” 

“ True, very true. A curate is a curate,” said Lady Kath- 
erine, u and a rector is a rector. Very handsome of Mr. Her- 
bert, indeed, and, as you say, no stranger to us.” 

“That will be so agreeable to us all,” said Lotty; “he will 
appear like an old friend.” 

“ I have long thought you very sensible, my dear Lotty ; and 
the contrast of last summer’s visit to this one, last summer, 
when all your kind, amiable relations were here, makes me very 
sad. I feel as we did when His gracious Majesty was, as it 
were, under a cloud.” 

“ Ah ! Brian, take care, Hugh will checkmate you,” inter- 
rupted Lotty. 

“ He may do it as often as he likes, provided I may sit by 
you,” said Brian, stoutly. 

“ Such a contrast, my dear Lotty,” continuedsLady Katherine. 
“ That is a very vulgar young woman, Mrs. Bankes ; she took 
it upon herself to give me some advice.” 

“ O ! she is always advising, that woman,” said Hugh. 
“ Don’t mind her, Lady Katherine, for she is a fool.” 

“ I do not go quite as far as you, my dear Hugh.” 

- “ O ! but you had far better,” interrupted Hugh, “ for she is 
an idiot.” 

“An idiot! pray, who is an idiot?” said the object of their 
remarks, who was never two minutes in the same place. 

Hugh got very red, and was none the less embarrassed upon 
seeing that Lady Katherine was dependent upon him to get out 
of the scrape. 


15 * 


174 


MARGARET 


Brian came valiantly to the rescue. “We think those people 
idiots who meddle in other people’s matters.” 

“ Very true indeed, very sensible remark ; that is what I 
always say to my friends, Lady Katherine ; and if any one was 
to remark how shamefully Augusta is flirting with Sir Harold, 
I should say, ‘Fray, what business is it of yours?’ I should, 
indeed.” 

“ Madam ! what do you mean ? ” said the astonished Lady 
Katherine. 

a O ! it is as plain to see as the nose on one’s face, what she 
is after. Margaret away, too, and he quite foolish from wine.” 

Lady Katherine walked in a stately manner across to where 
her son sat ; she planted herself firmly and decidedly opposite 
Augusta. The latter blushed deeply, and drew back, while 
Harold said, — 

“ Don’t go, Augusta, don’t leave me ; tell me some more 
about those countries.” 

“ Sir Harold Leigh, your mother sits before you, and she 
wishes to know whom you call Augusta ? ” 

Harold had sufficient sense left to discern that his mother was 
much disconcerted, so he endeavored to command himself. 

Not being accustomed to see men in such a state, Lady Kath- 
erine contented herself with keeping strict watch over her son, 
until her chair was announced, without being aware that l^lrs. 
Bankes’s remark had any truth in it. She departed in a most 
stately rustle of indignation, determining that Court Leigh should 
be cleared of such company on the morrow. 

Lotty looked at Philip after Lady Katherine’s departure, as if 
to ask his assistance in persuading Harold to retire, and that the 
party should break up. 

He understood her look without showing any inclination to 
oblige her. “ What was it to him how people conducted them- 
selves?” thus said that dark countenance, as he sat in hi quiet 
corner, caring for none but the little child figure. 

Again she appealed to him with a look he had never received 
from her before. 

He grew excited ; he would make her come and petition for 
what she wished, her dark eyes should implore, her sweet lips 
beseech him to interfere. He knew she only cared thus because 
it was her Margaret’s husband. He had begun to feel, that only 
through Margaret could he disturb the sweet content her face 
usually wore. 

But he lost sight of her for a moment, as Mrs. Bankes placed 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 175 

herself right in front of him, to favor him with a flowery de- 
scription of Lady Katherine’s looks and words. 

Though he interrupted the interesting story without an apol- 
ogy, and left Mrs. Bankes, not even muttering an excuse, in vain 
he looked round the room — Lotty was gone. 

“ O !” said his tormentor, u if you are looking for Lotty, of 
course she has gone to bed, and high time too, for such a child 
as that. But I don’t intend you to go off after her. Let the 
poor little thing have her first sleep over before you come in 
with your curtain lecture.” 

Mrs. Bankes was getting rampant, Margaret, Lord Erlscourt, 
and Lady Katherine all driven off the field, and Augusta giving 
her such a fine subject for her usual conversation, she would not 
lose such an opportunity. Mr. Leigh at last should hear her 
mind. 

She rushed into a vortex of mischief, and was in a high state 
of happiness, at seeing Philip’s countenance becoming darker 
and more morose, when the door opened and Lotty appeared, 
accompanied by Margaret. Her disordered curls and glowing 
cheeks plainly proved to Philip she had been doing anything but 
sleeping, while Margaret, with serene joy and happiness, went 
up to Harold and said, — 

“ Dear Millicent is safe, and has a little daughter ! ” 

“ I care nought about it,” said the ungracious husband. 

No change took place in Margaret, but with placid manner 
she continued, — 

“ I am sure you must all be tired, so I will ring for lights.” 


CHAPTER X LI 1 1 . 

The morrow was a day of events and consultations. Of the 
latter, that between Lady Katherine and her son was the longest 
and most ineffectual, and the one between Lotty and her hus- 
band was the shortest and most decisive. 

For he said, “ Lotty, we go home to-day ; ” and she answered, 
“ Very well, Philip ; ” and they went. Not, however, before 
Lotty had her full share of most of the other consultations, in- 
cluding a long dissertation from Mrs. Royston on the subject of 
teething, and the angelic way in which her baby submitted to 


176 


MARGARET. 


that universal plague of mankind. Why Providence did not 
ordain that they should cut their teeth when they grew up, 
formed a never failing subject of discussion and wonder on the 
part of Mrs. Royston ; beginning with the agonies such precious 
little innocents were made to suffer, the torturing suspense of 
tender parents while a tooth was coming through, the vast 
amount of bibs and pinafores damped during the process, and 
the expense of Mrs. Somebody’s soothing syrup, to say nothing 
of India-rubber rings, &c., &c. 

Mrs. Bankes was for taking Augusta roundly to task, which 
she did for the brief period that the latter allowed her to speak. 

u I have always heard that you Avere celebrated for going 
great lengths, Augusta, but, for my part, I would never believe 
it, nor more Avould Frederick, until we saAV what we saw last 
night. Shameful indeed ! and the poor man quite out of himself.” 

“ I have not noAv to inform you, Mrs. Bankes, that the 
friendship ivhich subsists between Sir Harold Leigh and myself 
is Avarranted by our long acquaintance, to say nothing of my 
having been originally the first object of his affections.” 

'' “ Fiddle-de-dee ! I knoAV much better than that ; and be- 
sides, to my innocent mind, that is an additional reason why you 
should be more circumspect. If you must flirt, my dear, I Avill 
lend you my dear Frederick for an evening, knowing full well 
that the darling fellow Avill return to his doting Avife more fondly 
than ever : but to fasten yourself to the side of a man who did 
not knoAV Avhether he was talking to a man or a Avoman ” 

“ Excuse me, Sir Harold was perfectly aware to whom he 
was speaking, which I only mention for his sake, as your 
remarks about myself are — beneath my notice.” 

“ But I think it my duty to tell you what we all think of you, 
don’t Ave, Lotty ? ” 

“ Which it is useless to do, Flo., 'if she does not think so her- 
self,” said Lotty. 

“ You cannot accuse me of flirting with your husband, child,” 
said Augusta, bitterly. 

u You are welcome to do so,” replied Lotty, quietly. 

“ Ah ! Lotty, you don’t knoAV Avhat I knoAV. I was just pick- 
ing a flower here and there in the garden, and seeing two people 
in the cedar Avalk ” 

“ Which tAvo people had quite as much right to Avalk there as 
you or I, Flo.,” interrupted Lotty ; “ but good-by for the 
present — I must run over to the Rectory, to inquire after Milli- 
cent.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 177 

Lotty did not look at Augusta as she left the room, and Mrs. 
Bankes finished her exordium to the chairs and tables. 

As Lotty and Margaret walked back together from the Rec- 
tory, they had a consultation which was different from all the 
others, inasmuch as it began in love and ended so. 

“ My Queen Meg, we go home to-day.” 

“ O, my Lotty ! ” 

“ Yes, you know you and I are under the laws of the Leighs ; 
you have no wish, neither have I, to dispute their wills.” 

“ Ah, Lotty, a different fate is before me. I must dispute my 
Harold’s, I, who could live only to please him.” 

u But, Margaret, we could not expect Harold to be good all 
at once, especially as he does not act for the sake of goodness. 
Let us do as Hope does.” 

And Lotty repeated, — 

“ Her bark upon the quicksands, 

Ten thousand floods o’erwhelm ; 

Hope looked above, — ‘ This is the time 
For God to take the helm.’” 

“ But should my resolution fail, Lotty? ” 

“ It will not, Margaret, because it has Duty for its father, 
and Love for its mother. But yon will have much to bear.” 

“ I fear nothing, so that my Harold’s good name is not tar- 
nished. I think, Lotty, I could bear the loss of his love, rather 
than know him to be evil thought of.” 

“ And yet it is his love for you that is his best safeguard at 
present, Queen Margaret. Somehow the organs of veneration 
and religion have been doled out to the Leighs in scant measure ; 
pray God we may live to see that mended, Margaret, then we 
need fear the visits of Flos, and Augustas as little as whisks of 
the wind or flights of crows ; but, Queen Margaret ” 

“ My Lotty ! ” 

“ I live near you, but you must make up your mind to think 
me far off.” 

“ Why? my dearest Lotty ! ” 

“ Because, because, the Leighs are rather strange, as you 
know ; they like to keep their own property to themselves.” 

“ Do you mean that Philip will prevent your coming to see 
me ? that living so near I shall not have your dear company, 
your .sweet, wise counsel, your loving face to look upon? O 
Lotty !. he never, never can be so cruel.” 

“ He does not mean to be cruel, dear Meg, and it may never 


178 


MARGARET. 


happen ; blit I wish you to be prepared, that ^pou may not think 
your Lotty unkind, unthoughtful. You must know, Queen Mar- 
garet, I am the most to blame — I committed the sin of marry- 
ing without love ; thus I must bear my lot without a murmur ; 
but as I cannot give Philip that love which I feel in my heart I 
could give to a husband, I must be the more scrupulous in doing 
my duty.” 

“ Sweetest, best Lotty ! with your child’s face and man’s wis- 
dom, how you shame me.” 

“ Then you are prepared for Harold’s having a reaction, are 
you, Queen Meg? He has been good a long time, and in the 
course of nature, one must expect he will now have a bad turn, 
because liis resolutions have no foundation. Can you bear all 
that is to happen, and know that Lotty, who loves you more 
than all the rest of the world, is sitting at home and not hover- 
ing about you in loving help and sympathy ? ” 

u You will pray for me, Lotty? ” 

44 Faithfully, as I hope for mercy and strength myself. Har- 
old, if left to you and me, we flatter ourselves could be managed ; 
but with that rogue, Price, poor, mistaken Lady Katherine, and 
that uncompromising Gerald, he will be driven into a state of 
distraction. He wants money too, does he not?” 

44 I fear so,” said Margaret. 

44 And I suppose if you were to lessen your establishment by 
one half, it would be much more comfortable ; but Lady Kath- 
erine would go into fits, as if the Leighs were born with less of 
arms, legs, or brains, than other mortals.” 

44 It is quite true, Lotty ; a large establishment swallows up 
money in so great, yet so unsatisfactory a way, that I long to 
live in a cottage, Avhere, waiting on my Harold myself, love 
would be the only wages asked, and love should be the only pay- 
master.” 

44 If it were not for Lady Katherine, I should think Harold 
would soon see the expediency of such a thing.” 

44 Harold wishes to leave Court Leigh, everything, and settle 
abroad.” 

44 I should much prefer an honorable economy at home,” said 
Lotty ; 44 a few ill-natured people might wonder, but the bless- 
ing of it, the good, the example — besides, I should imagine it 
was a mistaken notion, that of living cheaper abroad ; a person 
of extravagant habits will be extravagant in Siberia. — But 
here i Basil, and the two boys are close behind; they have 
eoipe to bid us farewell, I suppose.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


179 


Basil lingered by Margaret’s side, as if lie saw traces of a 
hidden grief in her countenance, while the boys uproariously 
lamented to Lotty that she was not going with them. 

“ Why should you stop at home with that Philip Leigh, who 
never speaks a word to you ? ” said Brian. 

“And we would never leave you a moment alone,” said Hugh. 

“ That would be too much of a good thing, Hugh,” said 
Lotty. 

“ I meant you should never be dull with us,” said Hugh. 

“ I do not think I am dull anywhere,” returned Lotty. 

“ No, that you are not ; and I only know, if I were king of 
the universe, I would have no woman born who is not like you.” 

“ Then you would have too much of a good thing.” 

“We could never have too much of you, and Basil thinks so 
too ; and though we are going a voyage in the ‘ Ripple,’ yet we 
are quite sorrowful to leave you.” 

“And I am in sorrow about another thing,” said Hugh. “ I 
should like to have kicked Mr. Bankes before I went.” 

“ Why? poor, unfortunate, meek man ! ” said Lotty. 

“ Just to astonish Mrs. Bankes,” returned Hugh. 

“ I did not know you were such bad boys.” . 

“We are not very bad boys, for we went this morning and 
kissed Milly’s baby, which nurse said showed we were kind- 
hearted boys ; but, Mrs. Leigh, when I kissed the baby I said 
something to Hugh.” 

“ What was it? ” 

“Shall I tell, Hugh?” 

“ Yes, you may as well, Brian, because, perhaps, she will,” 
whispered Hugh. 

“ I said, I wished I might kiss you instead of the baby.” 

“ Whenever I have any kisses to give, you two shall have 
them.” 

“Thank you! when do you think that will happen?” said 
Hugh. 

“ That is more than I can say.” 

“But you are always kissing Bear,” said Brian. 

“ Because no one else does.” 

“ Then nt) one shall kiss me but you, if you will treat me 
the same.” 

“ Come, come, do not let us have any more such childish non- 
sense,” said Lotty. “ I think you both very fine boys, and I like 
you both very much, and that you can believe without any 

saluting.” 


180 


MARGARET 


“All ! ” said Brian, sorrowfully ; “ it is all that Philip.” 

“What is all this sighing and groaning about, eh?” said 
Basil. - 

“ Mrs. Leigh will not give us each a kiss, now that we are go- 
ing away, and may be drowned or shipwrecked.” 

“You impudent boys ! how could you think of making such a 
request to Mrs. Leigh? Mrs. Bankes, or Miss Clare, now ” 

“ Ha, ha ! brother, we will give you all our share, should such 
ever fall to our lot ; but we will keep Mrs. Leigh’s.” 

“ No, no,” said Basil, “ the man who has a right to salute 
Mrs. Leigh’s cheek, knows his happiness, and values it too well 
to share it.” 

“You are one more foolish than another,” pouted Lotty. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

Philip Leigh returned home. “ Now I shall begin serious- 
ly,” said he to himself, “ to work my will.” 

Lotty was always in the habit of rising with the sun. The 
fresh beauty of the young day was like life to her frame, the 
deep stillness of the yet sleeping earth raised her soul to the con- 
fines of Heaven, from whence came the roseate harbingers of the 
sun. 

This time was to Lotty what happy dreams are to the sick and 
weary. She gathered in fresh spirit and resolution for the duties 
of the day, as the Israelites of old gathered their manna. 

Many a kind action, many a timely visit, did Lotty pay during 
these early hours, making the poor people think that one of the 
ministering angels, that watch and guard the dwellings of men at 
night, had forgotten to seek' her place in Heaven, when day 
revealed the secrets of earth. 

And she would appear at breakfast, her clear skin glowing 
with the pink hue of the pearl shell, her eyes like glittering dew- 
drops, her whole appearance so fresh and fragrant, that Philip 
felt, as she sat opposite his dark moody countenance, that she 
would deem herself more unmatched with him than ever. So 
he forbade the early excursions. 

In vain Bear’s impatient whine was heard, now at the door, 
now below the window, now at the gate ; his lazy little mistress 
was in bed. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


181 


In perceiving that this prohibition really had an effect upon 
Lotty’s spirits, Philip lost sight of the danger to her health. She 
had said, in her usual quiet manner, u Very well, Philip.” 

And while he rejoiced that it seemed to tame her, or rather 
subdue her, he did not know that he was depriving her of life. 

Lotty grew pale, then languid ; then she lay, Avhen not wanted 
by Philip, on the grass, on a sofa, anywhere, so that it was 
recumbent. Bear was without doubt a miserable dog ; and while 
no word escaped Lotty’s lips of either complaint or remonstrance, 
Bear expressed, in canine language, that he was on the verge of 
distraction. How long Philip, in his blind selfishness, might 
have continued the experiment, cannot be known. But Lotty’s 
nurse interfered. 

Having been born and bred among the Beauvillians, it never 
entered her innocent and unsuspecting heart that there lived 
people who not only could, and did, torment their fellow-crea- 
tures, but who plagued those they loved best. 

She concluded that this new arrangement proceeded from a 
whim of her nursling’s ; and finding all her private remon- 
strances to her (as well they might be) unavailing, she thought it 
but right to appeal to Mr. Leigh herself. 

u Yes ! Mr. Leigh, but she is the pet of the world, for all she 
is so wilful. If you don’t lay the law of a husband on her, she 
will slip through our fingers.” 

“ Of whom are you speaking, my good woman?” 

“ Of Miss Lotty, sir,” said nurse, angrily, and advisedly 
oblivious of her married condition. u Don’t you see how ill 
she is ? ” 

“ I have noticed she looks a little pale lately, but thought it 
was the heat.” 

“ It is no such thing, Mr. Leigh, it is all her own fault, for not 
getting in the fresh air of a morning ; all the Beauvilliers family 
are the same. The fresh morning air is meat, and drink, and life 
to them. And look at the change in only a fortnight come 
Tuesday.” 

“ Pooh — pooh ! ” said Philip, “ old nurses’ tales.” 

“ Old nurses’ tales, indeed ! then just call her to come to you, 
from under that tree where she is now lying. If she comes to 
you with the step she had ten days ago, I never nursed her.” 

u Pooh — pooh ! ” said Philip again ; but he called her. 

She looked round, as if she only half heard him. 

“ Ay ! ay ! she would have been by your side ere this ten days 
ago,” said nurse. 

16 


182 


MARGARET 


He called again, quicker and sharper in tone, for he really 
feared. 

She rose hastily, and seemed as if about to run, but her step 
faltered ; she held out her arms as if to catch something ; and 
feeling the faithful, loving Bear, she clasped him close, half-sink- 
ing on the ground. Philip flew to her, the nurse following. 
With half-closed eyes, and white, parted lips, lay that loveliest, 
fairest thing. 

“ She has fainted,” said the nurse. “ Don’t touch her,” as 
Philip wildly tried to clasp her in his arms ; “ the dog will do 
you a mischief. I will get some water ; see, she is better 
already. Here, fan her with her hat, but do not unclasp her 
hands from the dog’s neck, for your life. I know how he took 
on when she was so ill, after her father’s death.” 

As Philip looked at the innocent victim of his selfish caprice, 
he could have sworn her a lifetime of devotion and love, so that 
she would but look at him once. It seemed as if, even in a 
fainting fit, Lotty must obey his wishes, for she opened her eyes 
and looked at him. He poured out upon her the fondest, ten- 
deresf words. 

At last she said, — 

“ I rose too quickly, Philip ; it made me giddy.” 

“But why are you thus weak and ill? — O Lotty! my 
Lotty ! ” 

“ I do not know, Philip ; but perhaps I am going to die.” 

“ Die ! Lotty ; die ! ah, Lotty ! ” 

“ I feel as if I should, Philip.” 

“ O Lotty ! talk not thus ; you agonize me. Death can 
never touch one so fair as you,” 

“ I shall go to my father, Philip,” said Lotty, quickly, and 
with a faint smile. 

Philip’s heart beat with a strange fluttering sensation he had 
felt twice before. He put his hand to his side — his lips became 
blue. 

She would prefer death to living with him. That was all he 
had gained by his late experiment. 

“ Nurse, give Philip some water first ; see, his heart beats so, 
and that might bring on spasms.” 

Lotty was never again forbidden to seek the heaven’s nutri- 
ment her peculiar frame required. She got as rapidly sti-oug 
again as she had become ill. 

Philip went to consult a doctor about his heart ; who told him 
there was no disease at present, but he must avoid all violent 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


188 


emotions, to prevent any return of spasms. And this advice 
was given to a man who never gave his heart a moment’s peace 
or holy calm. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

While Philip was enacting the part of a tender and judicious 
husband at High Leigh, Harold was keeping up the same char- 
acter at Court Leigh. 

Their visitors had departed. Mrs. Bankes having declared, 
in a private consultation with her husband, that they had all 
become more stupid than*owls now that Lotty was gone, made 
her dear Frederick declare that urgent business called him to 
London. 

Mrs. Rovston was beginning to think that the air of Cheshire 
did not suit the operation of teething ; besides, the Leighs lived 
live miles from the nearest medical man — a fact that had kept 
poor ‘ Mrs. Royston in a perpetual state of alarm — and many 
times had the unwilling young ’Squire to go the last thing at 
night to the stables, to desire a man and horse to be kept in 
readiness, at a moment’s notice, in consequence of some unusual 
symptoms of uncomfortableness on the part of young Master 
Royston. 

“ Though,” as Carry declared to her husband, “ it was only 
one word for their baby and two for Margaret’s, who, she was 
certain, would have a fit that night, it looked so remarkably re- 
dundaut in health and spirits.” 

Augusta still remained, but she was only waiting an escort to 
London. The same train could not have held her and Mrs. 
Bankes without an explosion ; or, as Mr. Bankes elegantly ex- 
pressed it, u their coming to bats.” Harold seemed, after liis 
steady pursuit of active and worthy habits, to have become, all 
at once, an exaggerated edition of liis former self. In vain the 
devoted Margaret tried every winning way, made use of every 
wife-like art, to subdue his morose, unkind mood. Brooding 
over his want of money, and the dilemma he had placed himself 
in by commencing so vigorously the repair of his e. .ate, without 
counting the cost, he, like many men before him, laid the blame 
of his present unfortunate condition on another. And that 
Other was his wife. 


184 


MARGARET 


Margaret had been the originator, the instigator, the adviser, 
the enoourager of it all. And Margaret would not listen to his 
wishes to give all up, and go with him to any other country than 
that which contained Court Leigh. And this was that same 
Margaret who, early in their married life, deprecated his depart- 
ure from her side but an hour, even for what he deemed neces- 
sary ; who had thought that the world, including their tenants 
and people in particular, might dissolve into emptiness and 
vapor, sooner than that her Harold should be annoyed. It 
needed no poisonous whisperer by his side to make Margaret 
appear at this time a stumbling-block in the way of his happi- 
ness and content. 

In the heat of some of his arguments, he had told her of his 
banker’s account. “ Sell some outlying estate to clear the rest,” 
said Margaret. 

It was all entailed. 

“ Let us reduce our establishment,” she suggested. But in this 
plan she met with most strenuous opposition from Lady Kather- 
ine. This stern but amiable old lady had deemed it no more 
than her bounden duty to keep ward and watch all day long 
while Augusta remained at Court Leigh ; and as she imagined 
that nothing was ever done or said that she ought not to have a 
voice in the matter, she had arrived at a much greater knowl- 
edge of her son’s affairs than he ever intended she should. But 
he was not ill-pleased when he found she sided with him against' 
his wife, in the matter of reducing their establishment. * 

“ Court Leigh had ever been kept up in a style that no family 
in Cheshire could exceed,” said she. 

“ But there is no reason why we should do so, dear Lady 
Katherine,” pleaded Margaret. u Such state as we keep does 
not add to our happiness, but rather increases our cares.” 

“ It should never be reported in the country that the Leighs 
did such a thing ; it would be my deathblow,” said Lady 
Katherine. 

u Nay,” answered sweet Margaret, “ what is the country to 
us, if we are in debt? Every year will but add to our difficul- 
ties, until the end will be worse than what we fear now.” 

“ For my part I cannot conceive how such a state of things 
has occurred,” said Lady Katherine. “ Price must have been 
grossly deficient in his duties towards you, my dear son, and I 
can only advise you to make him refund.” 

“ He says I am in debt to him five thousand pounds, mother,” 
said Harold 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


185 


“ Monstrous !” said his mother, “ quite monstrous ! I would 
have him taken up and put into gaol until he confessed the whole 
matter.” 

Lady Katherine’s advice and ideas upon the subject by no 
means tended to lighten it in any way. No child could be more 
ignorant of the real case, and no queen more resolute to keep 
I) her state and crown, though it was clear to, others she had 
neither. 

Margaret grew pale and sorrowful, but the soft eyes never 
varied in their look of devoted love ; the sweet lips could utter 
no words but endearing persuasions to act Avith firm and upright 
decision. And she was alone in her thorny path ; no Basil to 
encourage the Avayward Harold ; no Millicent to bid her Avork 
on in faith and hope ; no SAveet Lotty to soothe, encourage, and 
point out some happy medium path. 

Margaret sat in her garden by the neAvly-made grave of 
Harold’s favorite — that petted and beloved horse, which had, 
by its traits of instinct and affection, first Avon for Harold the 
glance of the eyes and interest in the heart of the SAveetest, gen- 
tlest being on earth*. The horse had died from inflammation, 
t caused by being overridden. His death Avas sufficient grief to 
Harold, Avithout being told by Mr. Herbert that his OAvn pas- 
sionate mood had prompted the mad gallop, his own temper had 
inflicted this fresh grief. 

Harold had shut himself up, after a series of insulting epithets 
poured upon Gerald, that made the latter mourn over the 
wretched change, and had not been seen since. 

Margaret had desired the servants to bury the favorite in the 
sweetest spot of her garden ; and, when the last sod Avas placed 
over him, she came in lonely silence to ask God, from her heart, 
to spare her this bitter cup. So pure, so devoted Avas her love 
for Harold, that she asked for no return of his love to her, but 
that he should perform his duty to God and his people. Any- 
thing she could bear towards herself, so that he Avas irreproach- 
able in character and name. 

She felt arms thrown round her, and sweet kisses given her. 

“My Lotty!” 

“ Queen Margaret, Iioav ill you look ! ” 

“ And you also, Lotty. It is three Aveeks since I have seen 
you — O, my SAveet Lotty!” And Margaret wept uncontrol- 
lable tears. 

“ Dear Meg ! weep on, it Avill relieve you. I knoAv my 
school- Avife has been very unhappy, and you know, you can— 
16 * 


186 


MARGARET 


pour out your sorrows to your little school-husband without 
fear.” 

No, not even to that little, faithful school-husband could the 
loyal wife utter one word against Harold. 

“ I feel low and out of spirits, Lotty.” 

“When does Harold go? I hear he intends trying ‘The 
Marguerite * this summer.” 

“ He leaves on Monday, after the rent-day ; but he will not 
take a long excursion this year.” 

“ Do you go with him? ” 

“ No, dear ; it is deemed unwise for me to do so, because, you 
know, sweet Lotty, your little goddaughter is coming soon.” 

“ How unlucky that you should have all this to undergo at 
such a time ; and I — all ! Queen Margaret, I have but come to 
say farewell ! ” 

“ How, Lotty? ” 

“ Philip is going abroad.” 

“ When, and for how long, and where, dearest Lotty?” 

“ I know nothing more than that we go to-morrow ; where, 
or for liow long, I am ignorant. But you will have Milly, dar- 
ling Meg,” continued Lotty, her own tears falling as she saw 
Margaret’s despair. 

“ Lotty, where you are there always seems to me less of sin 
and the world’s deceit. Though I have seen so little of you 
lately, it was pleasant to think I had but to send for you — it 
was more than pleasant, it was my best worldly comfort. Well, 
if more must be borne, God grant me strength to bear it ! As 
you say, I shall have dear Milly ; and, Lotty, she is recovering 
wonderfully ; Dr. Murray has scarcely any fears. But, Lotty, 
my sweetest, dearest Lotty, my cares are doubled. When you 
go, it seems as if some goodness left me.” 

“Well, it is a great comfort to be so missed,” said Lotty, 
with an attempt at cheerfulness ; “ so now come with me, to bid 
Lady Katherine and Pru. farewell, and the dear Milly. When 
I am away, I shall be writing forever, and have a great deal to 
tell you. And as I may go to some unknown scenes and places, 
you may amuse yourself with publishing my interesting and 
original documents, and saving up any emolument that you may 
gain thereby for my goddaughter.” Thus Lotty chatted on, 
and no one would have believed that the little, lively thing bore 
within her a heart that ached more than all. 

Lotty knew Philip Leigh had a purpose in this sudden ar- 
rangement, and in taking Lei* from England, her friends, her 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


18T 


companions — not even permitting her nurse to go with her, in 
giving her no clew to his plans, no explanation of his intentions, 
she defined that her fortitude and patience were to be put to 
some severe test — some extraordinary trials. To her tender, 
loving nature, the leaving Margaret was sufficient to almost tear 
her heart in sunder. 


CHAPTER XL VI. 

Though Philip had given Lotty but twenty-four hours’ notice, 
during which time she had to make her leave-taking visits, and 
to reconcile her dear old nurse to her absence — a very difficult 
task, and not completed either — she and Bear were ready at 
the appointed hour. 

“ I am not going to be troubled with that dog.” 

For a moment Lotty turned white. Then recovering on the 
instant, she kissed him between the eyes, and sprang into the 
carriage. 

They were to go to Liverpool, eighteen miles, in their own 
carriage. 

Whether in that last kiss Lotty had given Bear any private 
instructions, could not be ascertained ; but on arriving at the 
hotel which they usually frequented, the first object that greeted 
their sight was Bear. 

And Lotty seemed in no degree surprised. Philip waited until 
they were in the sitting-room, and then, in a loud and angry 
voice, he swore he would send the dog back. Bear growled as 
he heard the angry tones. 

Philip struck him sharply with a riding-whip. 

Instantly the dog sprang up, with a howl of rage, but not 
quicker than Lotty, who, placing herself in front of her husband, 
received the huge form of Bear on her slight figure, every bristle 
raised, his eyes of a glaring red. 

Philip shuddered as he saw those sharp, glistening fangs 
within an inch of the small, white throat, and knew that, when 
blinded with rage, such bloodhounds as Bear saw not friend 
from foe. 

u Ah! Bear, be good; is this like a gentleman? are these 
your manners ? would you hurt poor Lotty ? ” 

The bristles fell, the tail drooped ; Bear turned away his huge 


188 


MARGARET 


jaws, his eyes assumed a penitent and subdued look, and with a 
whine of apology, he crouched at the feet of his little mistress. 

“ The dog is far too savage to be loose,” said Philip ; “I’ll 
have his proud spirit curbed with the whip.” 

“ No, Philip, you must not beat him, for then you will, 
indeed, make him savage.” 

“ As soon as Ross has done his horses, I’ll have the hound 
chained up, and a good flogging will teach him not only obe- 
dience, but better manners.” 

Lotty looked at Philip with the first symptoms of defiance he 
had ever seen in her eyes towards him. And he was not much 
mistaken in reading contempt there also. But he left the room 
to issue his orders ; and when he returned, after the lapse of an 
hour, he found Lotty prepared for the dinner that had been 
ordered for them, and Bear sleeping quietly under the sofa. 
Lotty was pale, but her eyes dark and brilliant. 

“ Send my servant here,” said Philip to the waiter. 

“ You must not have my dog beaten,” said Lotty, calmly. 

“ I intend to have him beaten,” said Philip, coldly. 

“ I would rather that you shot him, Philip.” 

“ I see no use in that, Lotty. I mean but to tame him.” 

“ That is not true, Philip, you know ; with a nature like a 
hound’s, you ruin him if you beat him.” 

“We will see about that,” said Philip, “ after the operation 
is over. He can then be shot if he proves worthless.” 

“ He shall be shot before he is beaten,” said Lotty ; “ here 
are your pistols. I have got them ready.” 

As she handed him one of the pistols, her cheek grew paler, her 
eyes darker and more resolute ; she held the other in her hand. 

The servant was heard approaching. 

“ Come here, Bear,” said Lotty. 

The noble hound was by her side as she spoke. 

“ Will you shoot my dog, if you do not like him, Philip, 
rather than have him beaten ? ” 

“ No ; lie shall be flogged.” 

“ Then I shoot him myself,” said Lotty. 

Philip heard the click of the lock ; she placed the pistol to the 
loving dog’s ear, who was looking up at her with pleased intel- 
ligence. 

“ Keep to one side,” she said. “ Now, my Bear, farewell. 
You take Lotty ’s heart with you.” 

An irresistible impulse to give him one more kiss saved Bear’s 
life. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


189 


Philip caught her hand. 

“ I did not know you were such a fool about the dog. He 
shall not be flogged.” 

“ On your word, Philip?” 

“On my word.” 

She took his hand, looked at it for a moment, and then said, 
“ Thank you, Philip.” Still holding the hand, she continued, — 
“ Is Bear to go home with Ross, or remain with us ? ” As Philip 
hesitated to reply, she said, — 

“ I am afraid, Philip, he will find us out, wherever we are.” 

“ Then take him with you.” 

“ Thank you, Philip,” and she touched his hand with her 
lips. 

Her face resumed its usual color, and her pretty, playful 
manner returned ; she and Bear had quite a scene of love and 
adoration, enacted in whispers and dumb show. 

Presently Lotty rose, and bringing Philip a glass of water, 
asked him if his heart pained him. 

“ A little,” he allowed. 

In fact, this strange, wayward man, thus battling with his own 
happiness, was contending with several very different emotions. 
He was baffled, and she victorious. That went against the grain. 
He was really irritated against the dog, and his unkind nature 
longed to inflict punishment, no matter what effect it had upon 
him. 

But the resolute daring of the childlike wife, the ease and 
fearless way in which she handled the pistols, and the deter- 
mined courage with which she prepared to destroy the creature 
she loved so well, rather than have it suffer, excited his warm- 
est admiration. And then the simple earnestness with which 
she said, “ Thank you, Philip,” the unsolicited touch of her 
lips, though but upon his hand, sent the blood rushing wildly 
through his heart, with a feeling of ecstasy he could scarce 
define himself. For amid all the love he bore the little child- 
wife, yet stronger rose the spirit of pride and self-will within 
him. This was the life he had longed for, this the excitement 
that was to color his days with alternate visions of clouds and 
rosy skies, and which was to indemnify him for having placed 
himself at all within the dull noose of matrimony. And yet 
strong must be the love which caused that proud heart to throb 
thus, though he could say to himself, “ I will let her keep tin 1 
dog ; through his means I may gain greater hold over that wiki 
spirit.” 


190 


MARGARET 


That he could love thus, yet think thus, gave him an insight 
into his feelings that puzzled and provoked him by their strange- 
ness. 


CHAPTER XL VII. 

The good angels appointed to guide the steps of the Leighs 
must have abandoned their posts — gloomy and irascible was 
the heretofore indolent Harold. In vain Margaret became, in 
her loving wife’s duty, so sweet, so gentle, so thoughtful, the 
essence of a dozen Margarets seemed to emanate from her. 
Harold neither looked at nor spoke to her. What mattered it 
to him if she was good, and amiable, and loving, beyond all com. 
parison, she yet would not give way in one thing. u The Mar- 
guerite” was her rival. As such, Margaret hated her with a 
cordial, honest dislike, that never swerved amid all her gentle- 
ness. The more Harold grew to know that she was immovable, 
the more did he harden his heart, and elevate “ the Marguerite ” 
to the highest place in his regard, and consequently her rival fell 
in proportion. Like Philip, he fed and nourished himself on 
this excitement ; he loved to think himself a victim ; he grew 
enamoured of the struggle, caring little, in this strange charm of 
novelty, whether he was right or wrong ; Margaret should give 
way, should learn to like, to live in, to make a home of her 
rival. When she had spent a year with him cruising about the 
lovely shores of the Mediterranean, then he would give way. 
Margaret might take her rival, sell her, burn her, destroy every 
vestige and trace of her ; she alone should reign Queen Mar- 
garet as heretofore. But he would have his own way first. 

On the rent-day all went well. The tenants were loud in 
their expressions of gratitude for all that their landlord had been 
lately doing for them, and with a good feeling appeared to a 
man, and what was of more consequence, every man seemed to 
make it a point of honor to have no arrears. Every farthing 
was paid down with cheerful alacrity, every old debt settled. It 
should be through no fault of theirs, if their young landlord was 
discouraged in his present good course. 

If Harold had been in a better mood, he could not have failed 
to be touched by the exhibition of feelings until now unknown 
to him, 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


191 


But his first act on the following morning was to desire that 
one half of the proceeds of the rent-day should be sent to cer- 
tain agents at Cowes, for the payment of “ the Marguerite.” 
Part he had already paid, and this last sum would complete her 
purchase. In vain Mr. Price expostulated, in vain Messrs. 
Moneypenny threatened, in vain they all called upon Lady Leigh 
to use her influence. That soft pleading, those gentle entreaties, 
became as so much oil on the raging flames, and he made no 
other answer than an order for his servant to pack up, and an 
offer to Miss Clare to escort her to Cowes. 

While Margaret mourned over the one deed. Lady Katherine 
boiled over the other, and af er the most approved manner of 
courtly fashion, gave her son the benefit thereof. 

It did not lessen the evil feelings filling his heart, that the for- 
bearing Margaret had every reason to complain, yet said nothing, 
while the indignant Lady Katherine had in reality nothing on 
which to found her accusations, yet railed herself into a belief 
of their truth. 

So, with a stern, haughty composure covering his inward 
rage, Harold proceeded, for the second time since they were 
married, to bid his Margaret farewell. One cold kiss he gave 
her, but a little sting of remorse penetrated his heart as she held 
up his boy, saying, with her eyes, “At least give him my kisses, 
for I can take them from him when you leave him.” He 
clasped the boy in his arms, kissed him many times, lovingly 
and fondly, and caught, as he gave him back to Margaret, that 
look of love and devotion her eyes knew so well how to express, 
while a flush of pleasure tinged her pure cheek with more love- 
liness than usual. All the leave he took of his mother was a 
haughty bow as he seated himself in the carriage by Miss 
Clare’s side, both of which acts made her bridle up with supreme 
indignation and disgust. But Margaret caught a last look, as 
the carriage turned up the avenue, and was comforted. 

Like the Egyptian king, Harold tried to harden his heart the 
whole journey ; but that loving glance melted down the granite 
thing whenever he thought of it, and he arrived at Cowes almost 
in an amiable mood. It even crossed his mind he would write 
to Margaret. Miss Clare had been amiable, and kind, and 
rational. Indeed, she always took care not to offend Harold’s 
real feelings of honor and rectitude when quite himself. And 
therefore, in some measure he may be excused thinking her not 
so bad as she was painted to him ; for he never remembered 
what happened on certain evenings. 


192 


MARGARET 


She invited him to live at her brother’s house, until “ the 
Marguerite ” was ready, which offer he gladly accepted. And 
she knew that her welcome there would be much warmer, bring- 
ing a rich young Baronet with her. For much might be made 
out of him in various ways ; besides the consequence it would 
give to have such a guest residing with a falling family, a tar- 
nished name. 

“The Marguerite” was a very handsome schooner screw 
yacht, exactly suited for the', ocean home of a family, being be- 
tween two to three hundred tons burden. Harold was soon 
absorbed in all the bustle and pleasure of fitting her out. He 
had only two drawbacks to his ( happiness ; he really wanted 
Margaret, and in spite of his anger, felt he could enjoy nothing 
without her. And secondly, Mrs. Bankes was in Cowes, and he 
stumbled over her at all corners. She did not mend his mood 
by the remarks with which she favored him whenever they met. 

“ So you and Augusta are going off together, are you?” says 
she ; “ well, I hope you are prepared to leave your characters 
behind you. People will talk, you know, all I can say, and they 
wonder Lady Leigh allows such things. Poor soul ! say I, she 
cannot help herself, she is tied by the leg. Bless me ! he is 
gone ; well to be sure, how his eyes flashed. For my part, 
spite of Lord Erlscourt, I think those Leighs are mad. It 
would be doing no more than my duty to give Margaret a hint 
of how matters are going on here. Though it is of no use 
writing to her, I declare I’ll give a hint to that poor little old 
maid, Miss Leigh ; she will tell her mother directly, though I 
dare say the old lady opens all her letters first, to see that none 
are from lovers. No fear of that — ha! ha! poor old soul! 
However, I will write ; it is my duty to prevent any evil occur- 
ring to my dear schoolfellow; Fred., I know, will be quite 
angry with me if I don’t. I hear they start for Jersey to-mor- 
row, a large party of them. A great shame Fred, and I were 
not asked. I have been wishing to go that identical trip for so 
long, and I am a more proper chaperon for Augusta than her 
gay sister-in-law. In fact, I don’t think any of the party have 
much to boast of, in the way of discreetness ; and now I think 
of it, I feel sure my dear Fred, would not like to see me mixed 
up with such a questionable lot. And I shall tell Miss Leigh 
that is the reason I did not accompany them, otherwise my feel- 
ings for my dear Margaret would have made me sacrifice every- 
thing to oblige her ” 

Mrs. Bankes’s soliloquies never ended, apparently. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


193 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

Margaret 'was writing to her Harold ; forgetful of his late 
unkindness, regardless of his cold farewell, unmindful of his 
injustice, she was pouring out her heart’s warmest, best feeling 
to assuage the grief he must feel on hearing a bitter piece of 
news. Price had absconded with all that was left of the half- 
year’s rents, and with whatever other matters of value he could 
lay his hands upon. 

Sir Harold’s absence ,had enabled him to mature his plans. 
He went from his houscMo Liverpool with the ostensible purpose 
of placing the rents in Messrs. Moneypenny’s hands, but had 
taken advantage of a vessel going straight to the gold-diggings, 
and had been gone four days ere the fact was discovered. 

“ My Harold, let me come to you,” wrote the fond wife. “ It 
will, indeed, be as well for us to leave home for a year, that we 
may at once put an end to the drain of our large establishment ; 
we can no longer contend, love, against the tide of our ill-for- 
tune. But let us face the evil calmly, for it is not hopeless. 
Messrs. Moneypenny have been here. They are willing, nay, 
most anxious, to accommodate us in every w*ay. They will, 
with your permission, appoint a trustworthy agent of their own, 
who will manage the estates with zeal and care. They promise 
to proceed with the repairs, appropriating a third of the rents 
for that purpose. They will reserve another third for them- 
selves, to pay off the incumbrance due to them, and give us the 
last portion on which to live : surely, dear Harold, we can live 
in luxury and content upon two thousand three hundred and 
thirty pounds a year, and even less ” 

She had reached this point of the letter, her lovely face beam- 
ing with the thought that with him half that sum would be suf- 
ficient for her, when the door opened. Mr. Herbert entered ; 
his usually calm and thoughtful face was flushed and agitated, 
while a solemn pity beamed from his eyes. Clasping the hand 
she held out to him, he breathed a low prayer for strength and 
fortitude, “ that he might tell, and she might hear, what God 
had appointed them.” 

“ My Harold ! ” exclaimed Margaret. 

He bowed in assent. 

“Not dead?” she whispered, in a tone that seemed to Gerald 
like the sigh of some mournful imprisoned spirit. 

17 


194 


MARGARET 


“ ’Twere better had he been taken from us, he answered. 

A low, deep sigh, half a sob, escaped from Margaret ; she 
was relieved from the worst fear. 

“ I am ready ; tell me.” 

u He has gone — he lias fled from England, he has left every 
duty, every tie ; for, Lady Leigh, he is not alone.” 

“ It is a mistake,” answered Margaret, calmly. 

“ I fear not.” said Gerald, mournfully. “ Lady Katherine 
knows more than we do ; she has had letters to confirm what is 
now in the newspaper. It was she bade me come to you ; it 
was at her wish ” 

u The paper?” asked Margaret, still and calm as stone, hold- 
ing her hand out for it. 

Awed by her manner, he gave it to her. Scarcely disguising 
names, in broad hints, and pointed allusions, with vulgar re- 
marks and family facts, lay exposed to Margaret’s swimming 
vision, an implied elopement of Sir Harold Leigh and Miss 
Clare. The yacht “ Marguerite,” family embarrassments, defal- 
cation of agent, private affairs, misunderstandings and quarrels, 
a mixture of slight truth and monstrous falsehood, burned them- 
selves, like letters of fire, into Margaret’s heart. That name, 
her Harold’s name, to be thus blasted — that character, her 
Harold’s fine, frank character, to be thus vilified — she drew 
herself up to her full height, she turned upon Gerald her glow- 
irig face, radiant with a noble purity, while from her eyes 
beamed an indignation so virtuous and exalted, he bent his stern 
soul before it. 

The beauty of mercy, the depth of holy pity, the wonderful 
strength of compassionate love, rose before his mental vision. 
He stood humble and abashed at his rigid sternness, his cold 
judgment of a fellow-mortal. He felt like the servant who owed 
his Lord ten thousand talents, and was frankly forgiven that 
enormous debt. Yet was he not exacting the hundred pence 
from a weak, erring fellow-servant? 

u Forgive me ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Thank you, Gerald,” answered Margaret ; u now you must 
help me to clear my Harold’s name.” 

u Command me. Let me go to Cowes ; intrust me with the 
discovery of the author of such slanders.” 

“ I will go with you ; yes, Gerald, who so proper to greet the 
eyes of one injured in so tender a point as his wife? On landing, 
Harold might hear some odious whisper ; he will raise his eyes 

in indignation, and behold his Margaret, and then ” She 

paused. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


195 


Gerald looked up, a deadly paleness overspread the late glow- 
ing features ; a pang of mortal agony and pain sent the blood 
shuddering through her frame. He caught her as she faltered. 

It might be that the many fears and trials of the past few 
months had weakened her, it might be the one sudden shock, 
which, on a frame so sensitive, affected body and mind alike. 
As her agony passed away and her color returned,- she said, 
u Give me my letter — I must write, write instead ; ring for my 
maid, Gerald.” She wrote rapidly, adding a few fond, loving 
sentences to her former letter. 

“ Now go, Gerald, take my Harold this letter ; tell him the 
cause that prevents me being with you, and in my coming hour 
of peril, O, Gerald, remember, no pang of bodily anguish that 
I shall endure, will equal the mental pain I suffer until my 
Harold’s name is cleared ! ” 

“ God do so to me, and more also, if I wrong him again,” said 
Gerald. “ I will now go and undeceive Lady Katherine.” 

u Thanks, thanks,” she could say no more. In the bustle and 
confusion always consequent upon an event occurring unexpect- 
edly, many necessary and proper precautions were forgotten ; 
or perhaps Margaret’s constitution was really weakened by her 
late trials. But from whatever cause, Lotty’s little goddaughter 
was born in such an hour of pain and danger, that the poor 
mother heard not her first cries ; she lay for many hours, wholly 
unconscious, her spirit hovering between life and death. 

Gerald had failed to convince Lady Katherine, who, after 
writing to her son, had established herself by Margaret’s uncon- 
scious side, while he proceeded to Cowes. 


CHAPTER X L I X . 

Lady Katherine had, at first, sat down stunned, as it were, 
with the fulfilment of her fears. Then she awoke to the fact 
that she must act in a becoming and proper manner for the oc- 
casion. She called to mind all the occasions in which the 
blessed Queen Charlotte had been placed in somewhat similar 
circumstances, through the unbridled habits of her own princely 
sons. 

Ever anxious to act, on all occasions, after the manner of her 


196 


MARGARET 


august example, if it unhappily fell out she was to do so under 
such painful circumstances, still she would do it. Her son had 
disgraced the name of Leigh — he was her son no longer. He 
had outraged every feeling of love and duty to both his wife and 
herself ; therefore he must be considered as dead to both of them 
until 

Here Lady Katherine paused. An idea shot through the ob- 
tuseness of her mind that Harold was her son after all — her 
only son. Her life would be almost, if not quite a blank without 
him. Nevertheless, the world would expect her to act in a be- 
coming manner ; at least she must show she had not had the ad- 
vantage of a great and high example without being able to profit 
thereby. So, in grand and magnanimous language, she indited 
a letter to her son. She painted in high colors the crimes of 
which she presumed him guilty ; she forbade him her sight, until 
time, remorse, and proper feelings should urge him to seek her 
forgiveness. She should interdict his name, hitherto so beloved, 
now so stained, being mentioned to her. She darkly hinted at 
his wife’s horror and indignation leading to separation, perhaps 
divorce ; and, winding up with an heroic finale, she commended 
him to the powers of an outraged Heaven. 

Lady Katherine read her letter over to herself, in pleasing 
approbation of the pith and force of her words, and then sealing 
and sending it, she proceeded to give Gerald the audience he was 
craving, receiving him with the air of a Roman mother, and the 
dignity proper for the late bedchamber-woman of good Queen 
Charlotte to show. 

Mr. Herbert found it vain to reason with her. He thought it 
best to proceed at once to Cowes, and act as he knew Margaret 
would wish. So sending Lady Katherine to her daughter’s bed- 
side, thanking God for the mercy that had opened his heart, and 
freed him from a crime such as Lady Katherine’s appeared now 
to him, he took leave of his Milly, and departed. 

At Cowes he found Basil, already working zealously in the 
same cause. To no one could they exactly trace the origin of 
the rumor. Some said the character of the Clares warranted it ; 
others, it seemed strange that Sir Harold should have left his 
wife and consorted with such people ; while one and all declared, 
upon their honor, they had never spread such reports. Loudest 
among these was Mrs. Bankes ; and while the good Gerald took 
her at her word, the more worldly-wise Basil alarmed her so 
much with his hints and remarks regarding the punishment due 
to the authors of such slanders, that she packed up her things and 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


197 


left Cowes forthwith. Her fears got the better of her curiosity ; 
dying, as she was, with anxiety to witness the denouement of 
the affair, she persuaded hei' dear Fred, that they should glean 
much better accounts from the papers, and that, at all events, it 
was desirable they should avoid getting dragged into the mess. 
To this “ dear Fred.” readily agreed. 

Meantime, at the back of the island, in a snug little bay, was 
the object of all their hopes, thoughts, and wishes. “ The Mar- 
guerite ” had returned from her cruise in the Channel Islands, 
and to please Miss Clare and her companions, perhaps also him- 
self, Harold had consented to coast round the island ere they 
finally landed. 

The effect of the short voyage lie had taken riveted in Harold’s 
heart the chains of “ the Marguerite ” over him. But the con- 
stant intercourse such close companionship as a vessel brought 
him into with his present guests was a counterbalance. 

Exquisite w T as the sensation of gliding over the fair but solemn 
sea, holding in its vast green bosom such hoards of mysteries, 
such countless lives, such boundless riches, and such mighty 
powers ! But the light laughter of an uncongenial spirit jarred 
upon Harold’s nerves. His gay companions thought this object 
of his love and veneration was merely the sea, who might prove 
very disagreeable and make them feel ill, and look so. Now, 
with Margaret, this would be different. 

In the night time, when he gazed on the stars, looking down, 
as it were, on a firmament as clear as their own, Avliat answer 
could he get from one of his companions to the solemn thoughts 
arising within him ? The rattle of the dice-box below in the 
cabin, the wild song, the hasty language, were all he could hope 
for. With Margaret he might have interchanged thoughts that 
would have drawn them still closer together. So, with all hia 
late feelings softening towards her, he would pace the deck half 
the night, and think of nothing but his Margaret. An irresist- 
ible impulse induced him to w'rite to her, and post the letter at 
Jersey. 

After giving her an account of his journey, whom he had with 
him, what they intended doing, he wound up thus : — 

u And now, sweet Meg, take those kisses from your boy. 
They are yours, and yours only. Forgive your wayward Harold. 
Remember that one such look as you gave me, when we parted, 
revenges you well. I see in the stars now above me, two such 
angel lights that seem to tell me what a brute I am. And up 
from the bosom of the sea come liquid soft glances, saying, 


198 


MARGARET 


* Cruel Harold ! ’ ’Tis in vain that I close my eyes, trying to 
shut out the remembrance of your last look. It haunts me, 
sweet wife ; may it do so ever ! ^Then, when I return home, 
Queen Margaret shall say she has no more loving subject than 
her Harold/’ 

Margaret had been ill and insensible three days when this 
letter arrived at Court Leigh. 

So Harold returned to the Isle of Wight in a softened and 
kind mood ; and though he might have felt anxious to return 
home, he put into Newtown late one evening, with the full deter- 
mination of taking his guests all round the coast, as he had 
promised. But he sent his servant over to Cowes for his letters, 
with orders to be with him as early as possible in the morning. 
The man bnbught but one, and, within half an hour of receiving 
it, Sir Harold sent orders to his captain to make all sail. 

u Where to? ” demanded the- captain. 

The steward went down to inquire, but came up again in 
double-quick time. 

“ Where you like,” he muttered, u so it’s away from this 
cursed island ; and I am not sure if he did not say 1 to the 
devil ! ’ ” 

“ Why, what’s the matter?” asked the captain. 

11 It will be that letter he got ; he is in a rare tantrum, and 
there’s not a bit of the letter left as big as the tip of my finger.” 

“ Well, the hotter the passion, the sooner it is over ; so I’ll 
obey orders to weigh, and get away from the island. May be, by 
six bells he will know his own mind.” 

Sir Harold’s guests were much surprised to find on rising that 
they were many miles from land, and that he did not appear out 
of his cabin ; but as they were nothing loth for a longer voyage, 
the two facts concerned them very little. 

Meantime a rumor reached Cowes that “ the Marguerite” had 
put into Newtown. Basil and Gerald posted off there without a 
moment’s delay. They arrived in time to see “ the Marguerite” 
just disappearing on the horizon. 

u Let us haste back,” said Basil ; u ‘ the Ripple’ is ready for 
sea, Ave may hope to overtake her.” 

u The screw yacht,” said a sailor, on hearing him, u has very 
little coal on board ; she can’t go far,” 

“ How do you know ? ” asked Gerald. 

“ Some of the crew were ashore last night, and said as how 
they meant only to coast round the island ; they took in fresh 
stores for a day or two.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 199 

No time was lost ; Gerald outdid Basil in his exertions ; and by 
noon they were well out to sea. 

u We are going to have a dirty night of it,” said the captain 
of the 44 Ripple ” to Basil. 

44 Care for nought, so you overtake 4 the Marguerite/ ” was 
the reply. 

“What course was she taking? for we might miss her in the 
night.” 

4 4 What ! cannot we come up with her before night?” ex- 
claimed Gerald. 

44 She had six hours’ start, sir, and Ave have not sighted her 
yet. If you could tell me whither she was bound, I might be 
able to form a judgment.” 

“That I cannot tell; she seemed to have gone off suddenly, 
without a purpose, making for the coast of Holland.” 

44 If the wind keeps on this tack, and she is short of coal, she 
must about-ship. No sea-going captain will trust his craft, in 
dirty Aveather, too near the coast of Holland. The shoals there 
soon SAvalloAV their prey.” 

44 Do you knoAV any thing of the captain of ‘the Margue- 
rite?’” 

44 Nothing, my lord ; he was just taken at a venture, Sir 
Harold Avas in such a hurry to be off.” 

44 1 cannot think,” said Basil, pacing uneasily up and doAvn his 
little deck, 44 what caused Harold to go again in such a hurry. 
Could he have heard any of the rumors at NeAvtoAvn? It is just 
like him to take the pet, and go off again in a tangent.” 

44 Ha!” said Gerald, 44 a thought strikes me — his mother 
Avrote to him ; I remember she boasted to me of having done so. 
He has received it, and here, here is the panacea for all he might 
feel, now in my possession. Not an hour of the time since it 
was given me have I failed to feel that it Avas safe, ready to put 
into Harold’s hand the moment I saAv him.” 

44 Your conjecture must be right,” ansAvered Basil*; 44 he has 
received his mother’s fetter, and none from Margaret. Poor 
Harold ! ” 

44 We pursue at every risk?” demanded Gerald. 

44 Yes,” responded Basil ; 44 one hundred pounds shall be 
divided among you the hour I board 4 the Marguerite,’ ” con- 
tinued he, turning to his crew. 

44 Ay, ay, my lord,” they ansAvered ; 44 Ave’ll Avork Avith a will.” 

Loav and gloomy clouds gathered themselves in large masses, 
rolling and unfolding under the very rays of the setting sun. A 


200 


MARGARET 


hollow wind seemed to sweep over the sea, whistling shrill as it 
caught the light spars of* u the Ripple ” in its grasp, or sent the 
crests of the waves in briny showers over the anxious watchers. 

A deep and mighty spirit seemed moving the ocean, whose 
bosom swelled so high ; the little, light vessel was now borne on 
some great billow, and again sunk deep in a valley of waters. 

“ I am glad I left my boys at home,” said Basil to himself. 

“ God love my Millicent ! ” was Gerald’s prayer. 


CHAPTER L. 

Philip Leigh took Lotty to Paris at first. And if he had 
purposely wished to make the affectionate and anxious Beauvil- 
lians know that “ their girl ” was happy, he could not have taken 
a better course. 

Lotty was delighted. The beauty of the public buildings, the 
fresh, clear air, free from all smoke, the clean and new appear- 
ance of every thing, charmed her correct eye and good taste. 

With a mind so constituted, that she found food and amuse- 
ment for it in the smallest daisy, the lightest cloud, the narrow- 
est space ; it was not to be wondered at that Lotty drank in 
largely, with keen enjoyment, the sights and sounds with which 
she was now surrounded. 

Had Philip’s mind been in a less morbid condition, it must 
have been both charmed and elevated by thus associating with 
one so fresh and intelligent. 

The unerring judgment with which she fixed at once upon the 
most correct building, the finest pictures, and the most beautiful 
statues, while it riveted the chains of admiration Philip felt for 
her, awoke no happier or more genial mood in his breast. 

She was not to be happy but through him ; she was to see 
■with his eyes, hear with his ears, speax with his mouth. And 
yet he acknowledged to himself that it was her free, independent 
mind ; her noble, truthful heart ; her frank, happy temper, that 
made her so adorable to him. And how was lie to make two 
such incongruities meet? 

He would try a new plan. 

“ Why do you go so often to see that one picture?” said he, 
one day, to Lotty, as he found her in her usual place before the 
u Assumption of the Virgin Mary.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


201 


44 It docs me- good to look at that face, Philip,” she answered. 

44 1 do not see any thing very particular about it in point of 
beauty. The faces of the children seem to me more lovely.” 

44 But it is the expression, Philip, so pure, so devoted, so self- 
forgotten. It is so like Margaret.” 

44 Ha ! ” said Philip, 44 1 thought you had a reason for such 
admiration of this picture. Lotty ! we leave Paris to-morrow.” 

44 Very well, Philip.” 

Once, when a younger man, Philip had resided for some 
months in an old chateau in the forest of Ardennes ; partly that 
he might, unmolested, study the French language, and partly that 
he might have the relaxation of some species of sport. The 
chateau was old, gloomy, and damp, in the heart of the forest. 
A farmer and his wife, with one servant, lived in it when Philip 
was there. If the same people inhabited it now, Philip could 
have no reason to doubt that Lotty would find any society so 
congenial to her as his own. Surely, in lonely solitude, nothing 
could come between him and her love. 

He took the chateau for the three autumn months ; and Lotty 
went at once from the fair city of Paris, with its palaces, and 
countless luxuries, to a tumble-down, old chateau, that smelt 
of mouldy cheese, and fusty mice. 

No one dwelt within three leagues of the place. So Philip 
set himself steadily to watch for a change in that cheerful 
spirit. 

A week passed. 

44 O Philip ! ” said she at the end of it, 44 you must come with 
me to-day, that I may show you the. most magnificent Spanish 
chestnut-tree I ever beheld. Bear and I discovered it this 
morning, and we gathered chestnuts by the thousand. Do you 
know, Philip, old Aimee makes bread of these chestnuts. She 
is going to teach me to do it some day.” 

44 I thought that sour old dame spoke to no one,” said Philip. 

44 She is not at all sour, Philip ; she is very kind to me. I 
have been helping every morning to milk those poor, miserable, 
old cows ; and I have enjoyed giving an account of ours. Ah ! 
Philip, she was so infinitely amusing in her wonder.” 

44 How do you make her understand you? She has the most 
outrageous patois I ever heard.” 

44 1 put a great quantity of Gloucester dialect into my French, 
and we get on wonderfully.” 

They went to see the great chestnut-tree. 

44 What an age it must be, Philip ; I should like to take some 


202 


MARGARET 


of the young ones, sprouting about here, home. I think an 
avenue of Spanish chestnuts would be beautiful. Don’t you, 
Bear?” 

Bear agreeing, they both set off for a race, and her sweet 
laughter rang through the forest. At the end of another week 
Lotty Avas very, full of business. 

•• That old Gerard is getting in his harvest, and wants the 
girl, so I am going to cook the dinner and act maid ; and you 
must not scold, Philip, or perhaps the new maid will turn sulky, 
and not Avait upon you.” 

She looked so fresh and pretty, his eyes followed -every move- 
ment, though he said nothing. Clearly there was no taming her 
this Avay. Hard as the trial was to him, and bitterly as he pun- 
ished himself, lie determined to plead a sudden recall home, and 
leave her there by herself. 

They only received a post once a week. Upon the receipt of 
the next one lie would act upon this thought. He did so. 

“ Then,” said Lotty, “ Bear, you and I must go and get the 
chestnuts up. Do you mind taking them home, Philip ? ” 

u No, he did not care ; ” in fact, at that moment, all he cared 
for was one look of disturbance or disappointment in her eyes. 
There Avas none. 

He Avent ; and that her eyes looked wistfully after him he felt 
certain. The exquisite delight of this thought kept up his 
spirits for full ten days. Not that he Avent to England, or 
intended to do so — he Avas but at the post-tOAvn contiguous to 
the old chateau. 

In about a fortnight lie became painfully anxious to see that 
bright face again ; not that he expected it to look bright — he 
hoped it Avould be pale and sad, and only brighten Avhen it saAv 
him. But it was rather too soon as yet ; so he Avent to Paris, 
for a feAv days, to consult a doctor about his heart, Avhioh he 
again felt uncomfortable. 

During that time he learned not only from the English papers, 
but from home, the sad history of Court Leigh. 

His first thought Avas, Iioav glad he felt that he had taken 
Lotty from home before Lady Leigh’s illness. She Avould have 
thought him a brute to have refused her kind cares and consola- 
tions at such a time. 

His second thought took the form of a species of pleasure, 
that Lady Leigh should be thus hurt in the tenderest point. He 
had long OAvcd her a grudge for her insensibility to his attrac- 
tions. Now he Avas revenged. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


203 


His third thought dwelt upon his cousin. If he had been a 
fool (which was all the blame he attached to such crimes), it 
was nothing to him, Philip Leigh. It only gave him a greater 
probability of succeeding to the title he had so long coveted. 

So, with all the letters and papers in his pockets to show 
Lotty, he retraced his steps to the old chateau, the agitation of 
his heart increasing the nearer he approached. 

A double dose of the soothing tincture prescribed by his Paris 
doctor was necessary to calm his agitation. As he drove into 
the old court, no one appeared to welcome him ; he had half 
fondly fancied such might be the case. He left the carriage 
with his hand on his side. Though unlocked, the house was 
empty. No farmer, no Aimee, no servants. It was well for 
his nerves that he recollected, probably at this time of the year 
they were all out in the fields, and it was clearly his own fault 
giving them no timely notice of his coming. 

Bidding the driver put up his horses as best he could, and 
promising him some refreshment, he passed on to the rooms he 
inhabited with Lotty. All scrupulously neat and clean; but 
cold and bare ; no fires, no sign of them, nothing lying about, 
as if she had been lately there. For a moment his heart stopped 
beating. Had she gone? Had the solitude proved too much 
for that happy congenial spirit, which loved to bask itself in the 
hearts of kindred and people ? He lay still and quiet for a few 
moments to recover himself, and then passed on to her bed-room. 
He leaned for support against the door, as he saw a little dress 
hanging on the back of a chair, with many other signs of her 
presence ; the windows wide open, letting in the cool autumn 
breeze, with the early dead leaves rustling in with it. Lotty 
herself spoke, in all the neat arrangements of the room. In a 
small antechamber beyond there were even later marks of her 
having been there. 

A letter was on her desk, unsealed, directed to her brother 
Norman ; some blocks of wood were lying about, with chips and 
shavings, two penknives, and a file ; and on the table was a 
half-finished, but most spirited likeness of Bear, carved in wood. 
Rejoiced as he was to be certified that she must have been there 
that morning, he would have been, glad to see disorder, the un- 
mistakable mark of neglect and indifference. 

She was not idle either. Philip gazed with admiration on 
various rough drawings, representing different things, and from 
which he now perceived carvings were being made in soft wood, 
in Afferent stages of completion, but all beautiful and true to- 


204 


MARGARET. 


nature. His heai:t being at ease from its first fear, and think- 
ing, from Lotty’s habits, she was sure to be in the fields with 
the people of the house, he proceeded to ransack the cupboards 
for food, both for himself and the man. 

Nothing could he find but part of a loaf of black barley 
bread. 

There was nothing to do but to go in search of some one. 
He soon found the people, but Lotty was not with them — she 
had gone, as they supposed, to the great chestnut-tree with Bear. 
He took his way slowly to the place. As he neared it, he went 
with a lighter step — he wished to see her before she caught 
sight of him. His heart thrilled with a strange sensation, and 
he stopped to calm it. He heard her low, sweet voice, singing 
the soft murmuring song he had never heard from her since she 
had sat on the arm of her father’s chair. 

When he could look, the little fairy thing was on her knees 
piling up a fagot of sticks, which she broke and placed deftly 
on the heap before her. And as she sang, she heaped some dry 
leaves out of her lap on to the whole ; then lighting the pile, she 
put stick after stick on to the burning mass, until she had a 
bright fire before her, and it crackled, blazed, and sputtered, to 
the sweet song ringing from her heart. 

Presently the fire seemed in the proper state for her fancy, 
and she spread about the hot ashes, putting in handfuls of chesP 
nuts. Then she called aloud, “ Bear ! Bear ! where are you, 
idle fellow?” And shortly Bear made his appearance with a 
rabbit in his mouth. 

u Now, Bear, give it to me. Bear is a gentleman — he does 
not eat raw meat like a wolf, but waits until Lotty cooks his 
dinner. Well, Av r hat is it, my Bear, what disturbs you ? some- 
body coming? No one that will hurt us, I know. What, still 
uneasy; has Philip come? 'Well ! then, let us welcome him.” 
So she left her fire and occupation, and came to where Philip 
was standing. 

“ How do you do, Philip? how are all at home? ” 

lie drew her towards him, with a strange, sad feeling in his 
heart, that expressed itself in his face. 

“ Are you ill, Philip ? ” And her eyes looked up anxiously 
into his. 

“ No, Lotty ; I was afraid I might have found you but dull 
and melancholy, leaving you so long alone.” 

“ Dull? O ! no, Philip, do not think thus ; we don’t know what 

is to be dull.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 205 

“ But what are you doing here with that fire, and why do you 
permit Bear to destroy the game ? ” 

“ It is his dinner, Philip — he has nothing else to live upon.” 

“ I always thought he had the same as you have.” 

“ Yes, in general ; but he cannot eat chestnuts.” 

“ Child, do you mean that you dine on chestnuts? — is that 
your dinner preparing now ? ” 

“ Yes, Philip ; you left us no money.” 

“ My Lotty, my poor Lotty ! — but why did you not order 
what you wanted? Would these rascally people not trust 
you ? ” 

u O, yes, I might have had what I liked ; but do not vex 
yourself, Philip ; I never Avas better, and I have really not felt a 
single want.” 

“ But why, why could you be so silly, Lotty? you knew it 
would make me very angry.” 

“ I did not think you would ever know it, Philip. If you 
returned ” 

u If I returned, Lotty? ” 

44 Yes, I did not know that you would ; there was nothing that 
I knew of to make you remain with me. You seem to take no 
pleasure in my society.” 

He interrupted her with an exclamation. This to him who 
felt as if dead when away from her. 

44 Well, eat your dinner. I should like to see how you and 
Bear manage,” he gasped out at last. 

44 Come, then, and lie down here. You see my chestnuts are 
just done, and I break them up into this pot of cream, for I earn 
this by milking the cows in the morning. Now taste, Philip ; is 
it not good? ” 

He assented, at the same time adding, 44 But not for the only 
dinner one has.” 

44 But do you know, Philip, people nowadays eat far too 
much. One thing is quite enough for dinner ; and if you were 
accustomed to one thing, you would shortly be surprised at ever 
having given yourself up to such gluttony as two.” And she 
laughed her pretty, hearty laugh, because, as she declared, Bear 
was looking so cross, that she was caring for Philip, and not 
him. 

44 I always tell Bear he is not to eat his dinner raw, but to 
bring it to me to be cooked, that he may show he is a gentleman 
born ; and do you know, Philip, one day lie brought me a young 
pig. I did not know what to do.” 


206 


MARGARET. 


Thus, as slic ate her chestnuts and cream, did she chatter in 
happy glee such as he had hardly ever seen before in her. Was 
it to mock him? No, for on arriving at home, and talking with 
old Aimee, he soon discovered enough to know she had been 
neither dull nor moped. 

“ Ah ! ” said the old woman, in her patois, “ she is a fairy, a 
child-angel ; she is good, she is pretty, she is wise, she is not 
human, she is not of our natures. All things love her, all grows 
to her hand. She would not let me buy her food ; no, she said, 
the great Father gave her her head and her two hands. Other 
people worked for food, why should not she? and she grows 
brighter and more lovely each day ; but she will buy for others. 
She makes her line wooden dogs, and her pretty wooden houses, 
and I must have one to sell, to buy me my warm jacket, and 
Gerard must have one to sell, to buy him a new blouse. And 
who is not better for the fairy child ? And she reads the Holy 
Book, and no one can do ill when she is by. Babette is not 
heedless and pert, Gerard is good and kind, and I think to my- 
self, ‘ Aimee, let not the child-angel see you have cross words on 
your tongue.’ ” 

So Philip had absented himself for nothing, nay v rather to find 
that she was more happy without than with him ; but all tlie sor- 
row he wished her to have felt, all the grief and trouble he meant 
to find her in, now fell upon her. She was broken-hearted for 
her Margaret. 

Never since the death of her father had he seen her so moved. 
And if he had not been jealous and angry, that all this sorrow 
w r as for Margaret, and not for him, he must have contrasted the 
fine, noble energy with which she vindicated Harold, with the 
cold, selfish thoughts that had filled his own heart. 

She besought him to let her go to Margaret. “ He did not 
see any need,” he said, “ in granting her petition. Margaret 
had sufficient people to console her, without Lotty.” 


CHAPTER LI. 

Fourteen days and nights did the buoyant little “Ripple” 
contend with the boisterous elements. Fourteen days did Basil 
and Gerald see rise with hope, and fourteen nights close with 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 207 

despair. Not once had they caught a glimpse of “ the Margue- 
rite.” 

Their own peril had been great. Cruising as near the coast 
of Holland as they dared, they had beeu spectators of more than 
one vessel disappearing in those treacherous sands, without the 
power to assist. Nothing but the light draught of the “ Ripple ” 
saved them ; now they were necessitated to turn homewards. 
They were already on short allowance, and had baVely enough to 
last three days. Nothing was to be gained by cruising longer, 
at this period of the year ; the best thing they could do was to 
return to England, for, if any intelligence was to be had, it would, 
of course, be known there first. # 

Reluctantly, but with speed, they returned. It was not until 
safe in Cowes harbor that their captain gave voice to his fears. 

“ I never thought to see Cowes again. If this had not been a 
wonderful little boat, we should none of us have seen this spot 
again.” 

“ Have we been in such danger, then? ” 
u Never nearer our last end more than once, my Lord.” 

“ And ‘ the Marguerite?’ ” 

The captain shook his head. 

“ How, you do not think she has been in danger? Remember 
her size.” 

“ I have been scanning the harbor, my Lord, the last hour, 
and I can see nothing like her.” 

u But did you expect her back in port?” 

“ Ay, my Lord ! if it was but a pet that took Sir Harold off, 
lie would have returned ere this, with such a parcel of ladies on 
board. Remember, it blew a gale every day we have been out.” 
“ ’Tis true, we have had shocking weather.” 

“ I did not think to tell you my suspicions, my Lord, until I 

was sure she had not returned to harbor, but ” He paused. 

“ Do you remember the Thursday night when we were so nearly 
lost ourselves ? ” 

“ I do.” 

u And the vessel that burned the blue lights so long, ere she 
finally heeled over, and was swallowed up ? ” 

“ Yes, yes.” 

“ You went below, my Lord, unable to bear the sight. I heard 
women’s shrieks amid the gusts of the wind and the roar of 
waters ; you remember, Mr. Herbert, we never sighted the ship 
well, and I told you then she was more like the vessel we wanted 
than any I had yet seen, as far as I could judge.” 


208 


MARGARET 


“ Nay, nay, for Heaven’s sake forbear ! in mercy speak no 
more ! ” 

u Well, well, if any of the party are at home, which they ought 
to be by now, or heard of, for few ladies would have staid out 
this fortnight, all is right.” 

With a dread fear knocking at their hearts, they hastened 
ashore. Not one of all the ill-fated crew of “ the Marguerite ” 
had been even heard of since they departed. 

There were letters from Millicent, and Lady Katherine, with 
the joyful news that Margaret was out of danger, and had had a 
letter from her Harold, dated Jersey.. 

Though to Basil and Gerald this gave no great hope, for they 
knew it must have been written the first trip, yet it seemed to 
have had all the effect of a healing balm on the fair head so 
heavily tried. While the penitent and self-upbraiding Lady 
Katherine wrote imploring letters for pardon to Harold, and she 
besought Gerald’s and Lord Erlscourt’s kind offices to obtain it 
from her injured son. 

They did not dare to write in answer. It was less pain to 
leave them still in ignorance, than to dash their confiding hopes 
with suspicion. 

They returned to the u Ripple.” The captain had not been 
idle either in his inquiries, and his face showed but too correctly 
how his fears predominated. 

44 You see, my Lord, everything tells against our wishes. She 
had but little coal on board, and it is the worst of those vessels, 
half one thing, and half another, in cases of emergency, sail and 
steam are both wanted ; for she is but half-rigged, on account of 
relying on her screw. Thus, if she drifted on to the sands, her 
sails would be of little use to get a craft of that size off the cur- 
rent-wav, and unless she could use her screw, her fate would be 
inevitable. A handy, sharp captain would burn everything he 
could lay hands on to keep her going, even if he gutted the ship ; 
but I can learn no good tidings of the captain of 4 the Marguerite.’ 
If he is not a shore-going captain, he is even something worse. 
God might have been merciful and spared her ; but all that 
Thursday night nothing could hinder me from thinking that the 
very vessel we were pursuing at the risk of our lives, was sinking, 
almost within hail, into these terrible quicksands.” 

44 Dreadful ! — this is too horrible to think of!” exclaimed 
Gerald. 

44 Something must be done,” said Basil. “I cannot live on 
here with such a load on my heart, and do nothing. Advise us, 
captain.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


209 


“ Advise, my Lord — what can I say ? Time will only tell the 
tale.” 

“ "W e must return, then, and visit those sand banks ; a trace 
may be found, a something to show that we must hope no more.” 

u We might do that,” mused the captain. We must hire a 
strong steamer.” 

i ' Agreed,” said Basil, eagerly ; u do it to-day.” 

u And you, Gerald, will return home ; one of us must be on 
the spot, if — if ” 

Uncontrollable emotion overcame them both. 

By night-time Basil was gone in a stout steam-tug, accompa- 
nied by the captain ; while, at the same time, Gerald took his 
mournful journey home. 

It was well he had but Millicent to encounter at first. To her 
he told the history of their perilous and fruitless voyage ; to her 
he whispered the direful suspicions of the fate of u tiie Mar- 
guerite.” 

“ It will kill them ! — it will kill them both ! ” cried the ten- 
der Millicent, wringing her hands. u 0 God, avert from my 
Margaret a blow so heavy ! And Lady Katherine, Gerald ! — 
when she knows it was her letter — when she feels it was her 
doing — ah, merciful Heaven, spare us ! — spare us ! ” 

It was fortunate that Margaret was still too ill to see Gerald ; 
nevertheless, as another fortnight passed, and still no tidings, 
and Lady Katherine and Pru. detailed how ill was Gerald, how 
altered, and wretched, Margaret felt a shock. The suspicion 
grew strong — he knew more than she did. 

As if by accident, she caused herself to be carried into the 
room, when he came to make his daily inquiries. One look was 
sufficient. 

“ You know more than you tell us, Gerald : speak ! ” 

It was impossible to resist. Life and death seemed depend- 
ent on the command. He hesitated, faltered, and grew white. 

“ Tell her all,” said Millicent ; “ it must be told soon.” 

To Margaret’s well-disciplined mind there seemed at once a 
clew given her to a mystery she could not otherwise clear up. 
Her heart had mourned cruelly over the fact that Harold must 
have known how near her hour of danger was, and yet had suf- 
fered a month to elapse without making the slightest inquiry 
after her. With joyful alacrity she welcomed tbe dispersion of 
this most harrowing fact, and forgetting Lady Katherine’s pres- 
ence, said, quickly, 44 Ah, yes! my Harold was suspected, 
accused, upbraided : he will not return until fully acquitted.” 


210 


MARGARET 


“ O Margaret, Margaret, upbraid me not ! ” cried the poor 
mother. “ 1 have lost my son — my only son, Harold ! ” 

“ What said you in the letter, mother?” asked Margaret. 

Between sobs and tears Lady Katherine gave them a descrip- 
tion of its contents. 

Margaret sighed deeply as the harsh and unnatural sentences 
smote on her ear. “No wonder — no wonder that he comes 
not, for he did not receive mine ! ” 

“ No,” answered Gerald. “ I left it at the post-office, Cowes. 
If I had done that at first, Harold would have received both 
together.” 

“ It is fatality,” said Margaret. But Lady Katherine’s nerves 
gave way ; she could bear up no longer against her painful 
thoughts ; and falling into hysterics, had a practical illustration 
of the sort of demon that had possessed poor Pru. on her sister’s 
wedding-day. 

Another fortnight passed. Like the pale being of another 
world, Margaret moved among them. 

One evening Millicent said to her husband, “ A shadow has 
fallen on the window now for the third time. See ! — it is 
Basil ! ” 

Gerald sprung out ; for a moment Basil turned away ; then 
his face revealed the fatal truth ; but he could not find voice to 
say,— 

“ It was even as our captain said ; 1 the Marguerite ’ perished 
on that Thursday night, within hail of us, and not a soul on 
board survived her.” 

Who was to tell the fond wife, the loving Margaret ? They 
sat all three through the night, wondering how it was to be done, 
and, as the morning dawned, they wondered still. 

“ We must go to Rose Leigh first,” was all that Millicent 
could advise. “ We must not care for the shock it may be to 
Lady Katherine, for, by that means only, can we hope Marga- 
ret will exert herself.” 

“ You are right, Milly,” said her brother. “ That sweet, 
gentle spirit will calm her own sorrow, not to add by a single 
pang to one deservedly afflicted.” 

They entered the drawing-room at Rose Leigh ; Lady Kathe- 
rine was moving restlessly about, as was her habit within the 
last few weeks. Basil laid down before her, without a word, a 
glove saturated with salt water, a neckerchief impregnated with 
sand, part of a coat with the seaweed yet on it. 

“ I found these,” he said, slowly, “on a sand bank off the 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


211 


coast of Holland, with many other things ; did they belong to 
your son or no ? ” 

With a cry that pierced the air with its agony, Lady Kathe- 
rine caught up the well-known neckerchief ; one shriek followed 
another in quick succession, mixed with piteous cries for her 
son. A wild and frantic spirit seemed to possess her, and, 
alarmed for her life or reason, Basil was about to speak. But 
as he looked up, a vision at the window appalled him. Uncon- 
scious that she was entering at the window, as he placed the sad 
mementoes of her drowned Harold before his mother’s eyes, he 
knew not that Margaret saw it all. Lady Katherine’s eyes fol- 
lowed his. 

“ He is dead, drowned, and I murdered him ! I, his mother, 
murdered my son — my only son ! Away ! — look not at me ! 
— touch me not ! ” 

The white, stricken vision came swiftly to the frantic mother, 
and put her arms round her. 

a Mother,” said the low, sad voic* if our Harold is dead he 
is safe with God.” 

* 


CHAPTER LL» 

After Philip’s determination not to let Lotty go tC Margaret, 
a change came over his wife. She neither sang nor laughed, 
and she never voluntarily spoke to him. 

“ No matter,” thought he, “ I will tame her yet.” 

When the three months were over, he settled that they should 
go from town to town, and place to place, until he could fix 
upon a convenient spot in which to winter. 

The grief of Aimee, Gerard, and Babette was loud and shrill. 
The angel child was about to leave them ; nothing would pros- 
per with them again. 

Lotty comforted the old woman as well as she could, and 
her last words were, u We hope to reach the same heaven, 
Aimee ; we may meet there.” 

u God and the Holy Virgin grant it ! ” said Aimee ; and for 
fear she should not be worthy to meet the cliild-angel in heaven, 
mother Aimee mended her ways and speech considerably, and 
grew a kind-hearted, respected old dame. 


212 


MARGARET 


Philip, at last, settled that Homberg should be their winter 
residence, lie had been there before, for a year or two, had 
indulged in some excitement at the gaming tables, and had made 
a few disreputable acquaintances. 

It was here Lotty should undergo her last trial, as Philip 
thought. She always wrote once a week to her relations ; Philip 
had at first remonstrated upon this, but she said quietly, “If I 
don’t write, a tribe of Beauvillians will take flight after us.” 

He felt the truth of this. Once or twice he had the meanness 
to read her letters, especially that one he found open on her desk 
when he returned from his feigned journey to England. lie 
was properly punished, whenever he did so, by finding his name 
not even mentioned in them. Nothing but happy, innocent 
details of her life ; what she and. Bear did and saw. 

Philip knew Lotty did not like being shut up in a town, so he 
took a house in a dirty street ; and knowing that she would not 
venture out after her early morning walk, he always left her as 
soon as she came in, to go to the gaming tables, from whence 
he returned at all hours. 

Lotty never complained. She and Bear seemed to be leading 
very comfortable lives. Philip said he had lost a great deal of 
money, and could not afford this, that, and the other ; so they 
did without, not he at least, for he had all the luxuries he re- 
quired at the cafes; only Bear and Lotty were put on such short 
commons that Philip found out Lotty spent her hours in draw- 
ing, and disposed of them to get food. 

O loving Beauvillians ! if you had but seen your girl, all 
the milk of human kindness flowing so generously from ^your 
large hearts, would have turned at once into a lake of burning 
indignation. 

One day at a gaming table Philip’s ears were attracted by the 
conversation of a French count and a German baron. 

“ Always attended by a large bloodhound,” were the words he 
heard. 

“ Yes,” said the Baron, “ and her eyes lustrous are as stars ; 
but she is very petite » — a child.” 

“ 1 spoke to her,” said the Count, “ and as she answered 
politely to my question concerning the road, I thought to pursue 
my advantage ; but when she found my purpose, those lustrous 
eyes flashed, and she said ‘Bar,’ and the great hound came, his 
bristles all erect, and his fangs exposed. Ma foi ! it needed but 
that child’s voice, and I should have been minced.” 

“ Ha, ha ! ” said the Baron, “ afraid of the hound ; I should 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 21S 

have kicked him, and sent him howling ; but is she not a 
child ?” 

“ No, no child ; a queen could not have looked more stately.” 

“ I shall meet her to-morrow,” said the Baron ; u her beauty 
is surprising — but such an hour ! I must go straight from hero 
to be early enough.” 

Philip went home boiling with rage. He poured out his anger 
and disgust to Lotty, demanding why she had not told him. 

“ I cannot lose my early walk, and if it is supposed that I live 
here with no protector but my dog, is that my fault, Philip ? ” 

“ It is your fault ; you drive me from you because you will 
not love me as I wish.” 

“ Do you try to make me love you, Philip?” 

“ If you do not love me,” said he, evasively, “ you shall fear 
me.” 

“ Fear ! ” said Lotty, her slight figure drawn up, her lip curl- 
ing in scorn. 

“ Do you dare me?” he said fiercely. 

She did not answer. 

“ Do you mean to say I cannot make you fear me?” 

“ I fear but one thing in the world.” 

“And what is that?” 

“ That I may not do my duty.” 

He could not but believe her ; truth spoke in every gesture. 
At last he said sullenly, “ If you walk out between four and 
six in the public and most frequented walks, I will take care to 
be there also, either with you or near you.” 

“ Thank you, Philip.” 

He meant but to try her still. 

Attended by her dog, she went. Philip was there before her, 
talking loudly and gayly to a very handsome Frenchwoman. 
Lotty passed quietly on, walking from one shaded walk to 
the other, attracting every eye, but not seeming to care for it ; 
Bear, with discreet tail and ears, walking in a stately manner 
by her. 

After her walk, when they reached home, they had a long 
conference together, and mutually agreed that the change was 
very disagreeable. 

“It is sad, Bear, that we are not still in the forest, that we 
mav not run about and do as we like, without so many eyes upon 
us ; still we are not so sad as Queen Margaret. Ah ! if we were 
with her, Bear, we should not care for rude eyes and hard fare. 
We should think of nothing but her. At all events, Bear, you 


214 


MARGARET 


agree with me still ; it’s better to be poor Lotty and dull Bear 
than Carry or Flo. So we will write again to sweet Meg, and 
comfort ourselves.” 

Again Lotty and Bear went out to the public walks, as Philip 
had ordered, at the hour he appointed, and again he appeared 
with the handsome Frenchwoman. 

Lotty and Bear to-day made the acquaintance of a good old 
bonne, and her merry children. Bear did a wonderful amount 
of tricks to amuse them. 

So that on the third day they proceeded to the public walks in 
rather better spirits — they hoped to meet their friends again. 
The old bonne’s face beamed with pleasure as she saw the little 
figure with the great Bear appear. She took her for a child, 
and became so familiar as to say, “Always, mon enfant , come 
and place yourself under my care — I will be your bonne.” 

So Lotty and Bear enjoyed themselves. Philip was invari- 
ably there ; and though Lotty attracted great attention, nothing 
had occurred to call forth any interference on his part as her 
natural protector. Besides, since she had placed herself under 
the surveillance of the good bonne, many people imagined she 
was the proper charge of the worthy creature. 

“ One day,” said the bonne to Lotty, “ I overheard, mon en- 
fant , those two talking, that lady and the English gentleman. 
The lady is going to speak to you the first opportunity, and 
make your acquaintance. Ma chere , you must not permit it ; she 
is not for such as you to speak to. She is Madame La Luce, 
very wicked and bad, for all her handsome appearance. That 
young Englishman is infatuated ; he will be ruined.” 

The good bonne little imagined she was speaking to the wife 
of the doomed Englishman. 

After her warning, Lotty became aware that Philip was trying 
to meet her, in one of the walks by herself, for the purpose of 
speaking to her ; Madame La Luce being with him. 

She avoided the rencontre with such skill, that at last Philip 
either grew impatient, or the lady taunted him, for he advanced 
to Lotty alone one evening, when she was walking with the 
good bonne. 

“ Lotty, I wish you to come with me.” 

“ For what purpose, Philip?” 

“ I w r ish to introduce you to a lady, a friend of mine. She is 
in the next walk.” 

“ You must excuse me, I do not wish the introduction.” 

“ I command it,” said Philip, passionately. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


215 


“And I disobey,” said Lotty. 

She passed on with the old bonne, leaving him in a whirlwind 
of emotion. 

Did she know whom Madame La Luce was ? Could she be 
jealous? If so, his purpose was accomplished; his last trial 
successful. He trod on air at the thought. 

“ Mon enfant , the Englishman knows you,” said the bonne. 

“ Yes,” said Lotty. 

“ Your brother, ma chere ? ” 

“ No, my husband.” 

u 0, mon Dieu ! 0, misericorde / 0, mon enfant ! jamais. 

Helas 1 jamais. Jamais je ne Vaurai cru. Ah! Mary, mother 
of God, this child, this petite , charmante enfant ! Ah ! ma 
chere , mon ange , que je suis miserable ! ” 

Lotty tried to bring her old friend to some little reason ; but 
as there was no possibility of getting her out of her state of sur- 
prise and consternation, she returned home. 

Lotty had not been there long before the waiters from a res- 
taurateur’s came to the house, and* prepared to lay dinner for 
three. In a little while a fiacre drove to the door, from whence 
Philip handed Madame La Luce. 

Lotty was sitting in a sort of child’s attitude ima large, old, 
carved chair, her curls in an unusually disordered state ; but so 
picturesquely did they fall, that nothing could exceed the pretti- 
ness of the picture. She had been having a serious conversation 
with Bear, and perhaps, in the heat of the argument, if they had 
arrived at one, Lotty had resorted to the Beauvillian habit of 
running her fingers through her ha'ir. Bear’s fine head was 
resting on the arm of the chair, and his loving eyes were saying 
all sorts of things to his little mistress. The door opened, and 
Philip led in Madame La Luce. 

“ Lotty, I wish to introduce you to Madame La Luce. 
Madame, my wife, Mrs. Leigh.” 

Lotty looked up, and Madame made an elaborate courtesy. 
She was about to speak, when Philip said quickly, — 

“Lotty, do you not hear? — greet your visitor; she dines 
with us to-day.” 

Lotty rose from the chair, and, without taking the smallest 
notice of either of them, called to Bear, and left the room with 

him. 

Philip looked in her face as she passed. There was no look 
of jealous anger, no passion, no feeling — nothing but an expres- 
sion of calm contempt. 


216 


MARGAJtET 


“ Ha ! ha ! ” cried Madame La Luce, with the hissing tone of 
a woman in a rage ; “is this your baby wife? hein ; but we are 
the tragedy queen ! Small indeed ! but a soul, ha ! ha ! a soul 
so large, Monsieur Philip, so big, you cannot have control ot* 
that soul. He have baby wife, but she cry loudest.” 

Madame La Luce would have continued darting forth her 
fiery stings at Philip, had she not seen that he w T as white with 
passion. 

“ I will make her return,” he said ; “ remain, Madame — she 
shall return and apologize.” 

As Philip bounded up the stairs to his Wife’s room, he had no 
feeling in his heart but that she should obey him. As he entered 
the room, Lotty was putting on her walking-dress. 

u Where are you going?” 

u Away,” said Lotty. 

“ You shall not ! ” and he grasped her arm. 

“ Bear ! ” said Lotty. The noble hound sprung to her side ; 
and as Philip relaxed his hold, he knew by the fiery eyes and 
swift, brushing tail, Bear was in no mood to be trifled with. 

u How can you be so foolish, Lotty? I bring a lady to make 
your acquaintance, and you conduct yourself in this manner ! ” 

“ She is not the person a husband usually introduces to a 
tvife.” 

“ You are jealous, Lotty.” 

Ah ! if she would but allow it, he would lay himself at her 
feet for forgiveness, and be her slave forever. 

She did not answer ; she only looked at him. It was enough : 
never did look express such contempt at the supposition. 

u How know you she is the person you mean?” 

“ If you can deny it, I am willing to believe you.” 

He did not dare to do so ; she looked so pure and childlike in 
her reproving way. 

“ Come, Lotty, she shall go if you do not like her ; forget 
this, and I will send her away.” 

u A Beauvilliers will submit to everything but insult. You 
have insulted me, both as a wife and a woman. I have borne 
everything else, and done my duty to you as fully as you per- 
mitted me. Now I am free. Farewell, Philip Leigh ! I go to 
my own people. Once more I am Charlotte Beauvilliers.” 

She did not mean to triumph ; she did not intend to hurt his 
feelings ; but there was such an unconscious delight as she spoke 
of going to her people, such an air of charmed freedom as 
she uttered her maiden name, that Philip Leigh fell to the 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


217 


ground, smitten, crushed, with the conviction in his heart she 
was lost to him forever — and that it was the work of his own 
hands. 

She glanced at him as he lay gasping on the floor. 

u Bear, be good — Philip is ill.” 

Bear laid down by Philip’s side on the floor, his watchful, ex- 
cited air giving place to a calm, steadfast gaze on Lotty. She 
raised Philip’s head, his eyes were closed ; she could see the 
violent beatings of his heart, as it heaved the coat up and down. 
His struggles for breath were fearful. 

“ King the bell, Bear.” 

The obedient dog obeyed. 

“ Go for a doctor — Mr. Leigh is very ill,” she said, as the 
servant answered. 

Madame La Luce, wondering, it is supposed, at the commo- 
tion up stairs, or at Mr. Leigh’s absence, now made her appear- 
ance at the door, asking, in her sharp, broken English, — 

“What is de matter?” 

“ Mr. Leigh is ill, Madame,” said Lotty, calmly. 

“ 0, mon Dieu , il est mort!” said she, screaming. 

“Pray, Madame, calm yourself — your cries make him worse.” 

With a mighty gasp, that made Philip’s words fall from his 
mouth with startling distinctness, he said, “ Go, woman ! ” 

“ You go, my dear. I hold Mr. Leigh ; he have my care.” 

“ lie meant you, Madame,” said Lotty, calmly. 

“ Mon Dieu ! no, he adore me ; he wish me by his side ; he 
old bon friend.” 

Here Philip’s efforts to speak became agonizing. 

“Bear,” said Lotty, “turn her out.” 

Nothing loth, Bear proceeded to perform his orders with so 
much good will and alacrity, that Madame fled shrieking down 
the stairs, and flying into the drawing-room, sank into the first 
chair that came to hand. Bear followed ; his low, sharp growls 
and snapping jaws sounded and looked awful. But to those 
who knew him, there was a good-humored sort of chuckle in 
his eyes, that plainly showed lie meant to be quite the gentle- 
man in all he did, and that he was enjoying the fun greatly. 

He walked with stately and solemn step into the drawing- 
room after Madame, and rearing his huge proportions against 
the door, he shut it like any other, gentleman. Then, choosing 
a convenient spot before the door, he laid himself down, in a 
calm jsort of contemptuous mood, and Madame saw she was a 
prisoner. ^ 


218 


MARGARET 


Though she might have done deeds worthy of a prison, it 
never entered into her contemplations that her gaolor would pre- 
sent to her the appearance of the present one. The thought of 
hysterics had occurred to her, but possibly her strange keeper 
might take measures to bring her round, never mentioned in the 
annals of physic, which would prove something so frightfully 
out of the common as to be her death. 

So she sat trembling in her chair, vowing and protesting to 
herself that her old admirer, who adored her, should adore at a 
distance, for never again Would she encounter the glance of the 
child-wife’s eyes, or the jaws of her brute, “ si effroyable ,” if 
once she escaped from the contiguity of either. Never was 
woman in such a predicament ; unable to shriek, to speak, to 
scold, not daring to move, she sat through what she thought a 
lifetime of horrors. Once, and once only, with stealthy, slow 
movement, did she put out her hand to reach the bell-rope. 

Just as she thought she grasped it, a short, sharp growl of 
intense anger made her spring out of her chair with fright, and 
fall into it again with fear. She could just see Bear, and after 
this mark of his qualities as a gaoler, he was quietly licking his 
paws. Lotty would have said he was trying to hide a smirk 
of gratified irony, that came over his grim countenance^ but 
Madame saw nothing but “ une bete effroyable .” 

Various noises were heard up stairs, running, calling, and 
every sign of a dark and momentous time. 

At the end of an hour all was quiet, and Bear seemed to 
know that something pleasant was coming, for he raised himself, 
his huge tail went to and fro, making a breeze quite refreshing 
to the lialf-sick Madame. His eyes assumed a loving, fond look, 
and as the door opened he made way. 

“ Have you behaved like a gentleman, Bear?” said the young 
girl, as she entered. 

Bear rose up to his full height, and putting a paw on each 
shoulder, looked an unmistakable u yes” into Lotty’ s eyes. 
Madame shrieked, Lotty kissed him between the eyes and said, 
“ Good Bear ! ” Then with a manner so dignified and courte- 
ous that Madame La Luce’s bold eyes drooped before hers, 
she said, “Mr. Leigh is better, Madame — would you like a 
fiacre f ” 

“ I wish to see him,” said Madame La Luce, with poor 
effrontery. 

“ The doctor is there, Madame, and he is shortly coming her« 
to write a prescription.” 


219 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 

The fact that this girl, in her woman’s delicacy, 
to spare Madame La Luce the shame of being found in a ma 
ried man’s house, awoke no corresponding feeling in that hard- 
ened breast. 

It was nothing to her — she had no shame left ; she woul<? 
brave it out, if only to hurt the English wife’s feeling. 

“ I shall stay to see M., the doctor, to hear his opinion.” 

“ As you please, Madame ; come Bear.” And they left th<? 
room without further notice of Madame. She was rejoiced a# 
the absence of her strange gaoler, but she wished she had it ii? 
her power to daunt that small, proud girl, if but for a moment. 
It required all the effrontery and boldness she possessed to facd 
the doctor’s astonishment when he saw her. 

He was a Scotchman, byt had been settled in Homberg many 
years. The servant had called him instead of a German doctor, 
thinking the lodgers would prefer their own countryman, espe- 
cially the little young wife, who had made her way into their 
hearts by many acts such as Lotty was well versed in. 

Mr. Laird knew Madame La Luce well by sight and reputa- 
tion. 

“You here, Madame?” 

“ Yes, Monsieur ; how is your patient?” 

“ Who is that young girl up stairs, then?” 

“ I know not, Monsieur.” 

“ Ay, I kenned she was owre young for his wife,” said the 
doctor, musingly.” 

“ How is M. Leigh?” 

“ Vara ill, Madame, and no fit for company like yours. Tak 
my advice, and gang yer ways.” 

“ I am going, M. le Docteur 1 I but wait to hear of my old 
friend, M. Leigh — he adore me.” 

“ He’ll no adore ye long then. If the Lord sends nae better 
symptoms, he’ll no leeve twelve hours.” 

“ 0, mon Dieul pauvre M. Leigh! I go, I fly — make my 
compliments to M. Leigh. La mort ! 0, c’est ajfreuse” 




MARGARET 



CHAPTER L 1 1 1 . 

"When Mr. Laird reached his own house, late at night, after 
seeing his patient in a calm sleep, and the child, as he called 
her, sitting by his side, with an old woman in the room, whom 
he had sent for to assist, he fell into a deep fit of musing. 

“ My word, Alick, but ye might awa to bed, if ye’re gang- 
ing to sit mump like that.” 

Thus said Mrs. Laird, who was also Scotch, and not of a 
kindly temper, for she mourned over her banishment from the 
land of cakes and heather. 

“ Hoot, woman ! dinna fash. I liae got a new patient.” 

“Man or woman, Alick?” 

“ A young man, and my heart is wae about him — I think 
he’ll die ; and he is such a fine, grand, weel-favored chiel.” 

“ Aud what’s his ill, Alick? ” 

“ Heart complaint, Janet.” 

“ Ay, me, what a mony folks dee of that the noo, Alick ! In 
my young days, heart complaint was joost a fit o’ luve.” 

“ Science is mair skilfu’ noo, Janet, and kens mony things 
that were aye hidden afore.” 

* “Is he weel to do, Alick?” 

“There seemed no lack, Janet ; for when I ca’ed for what I 
wanted, it aye cam to my hond.” 

Mr. Laird was very deep ; he knew poverty was a great sin 
in Janet’s eyes ; and as he was plotting a scheme in his own 
mind, whfoh, without her consent, he knew could not be done, 
he was casing up all his craftiness to his aid. 

“ And sofyou think he’ll dee, Alick?” 

“ No tha^, Janet, if I had him under my ain e’e, in the house 
here — he/has nane to look after him.” 

“ And iStiv ye think I’se gwan to have a strange mon in my 
house? ’’said Mrs. Laird, wrathfully, and beginning to see the 
Doctors drift. 

Then the puir, bonny lad must joost dee. Madame La Luce 
must nurse him.” 

“ Wha?” said Mrs. Laird, panic-struck. 

“ Did no I tell ye I fund that woman i’ the house?” 

“ Deed o’ goodness, Alick ! gang yer ways in the morn, and 
fetch him straight here. I wadna be doing my duty as a coun- 
trywoman, did I leeve the bonny lad in her clutches.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


221 


“ He is no to say a lad,” said Mr. Laird. 

But Mrs. Laird was so taken up with her own ideas, that she 
did not heed him. She had brought out with her from her na- 
tive land a great deal of the old Puritan blood and feelings, for 
which that land is famous. The unrighteous and ungodly pro- 
ceedings of “foreign pairts,” as she termed it, and the peculiarly 
“ awfu’ ” state of Homberg in particular, had done much to 
increase her little acerbities. In railing at them, she had 
adopted a habit of always railing, because her decorous mind 
and strict ways were' scarcely ever without an affront on them. 

Madame La Luce, in particular, was a never-failing source 
of righteous wrath ; and when everything went Avell in the 
house, — Mr. Laird in high favor, the maids all doing their 
duty, — that abhorred and odious name never failed to upset the 
whole household, putting Mrs. Laird into a week’s ill-humor. 

“ The hussie ! the ne’er-do-weel ! — ye think ye’ll hae yer ain 
way. Eh, Doctor, but ye mun be up in the morn, and get him 
awa’, puir misguided lad!” exclaimed she, at last, having 
indulged in various other remarks that would not look well in 
print, though, no doubt, strictly true. 

“ There is a bit, lass, too,” began Mr. Laird. 

“ Hoot, man ! de ye think I can fash mysel’ wi’ ony more o’ 
your patients ? ” 

“ She is nae patient, Janet. I am thinking she’ll be sister to 
you.” 

“ I am sure there is naebody wha does their duty more 
according to the blessed commandments nor me ; but as for tak- 
ing in a’ your fancies, Doctor, I wunna ! ” 

“ Then I’ll just gie this up, Janet ! and I wadna hae men- 
tioned it till ye, but I feared Madame La Luce might just^get 
baud of the young lassie ; and then, puir bairn ” 

“ Gang yer ways, Doctor, and fetch ’em both. I’ll get the 
blue room ready for the lad, and the lass shall aye sleep in the 
sma’ chamber within my ain. I warrant nae madames will get 
at her there.” 

Dr. Laird having gained his ends, thought it prudent to say 
nothing about the dog. As Madame La Luce could not con- 
taminate him, there was no ruse by which he could obtain a 
consent for his admittance. lie was, in reality, very anxious to 
have his new patient immediately under his own eye, not only 
because he feared that the case was a very bad one, but, being 
in lodgings, Madame La Luce might have constant admittance, 
and keep his patient, in a state of agitation that would go far to 


222 


MARGARET 


retard his cure ,* for he had seen quite enough to know that he 
was violently agitated at the bare mention of her name. Be- 
sides, his kind heart felt for the little, lonely child, who had 
showed such judgment and tact in all she had done to assist his 
professional labors, and whose slight touch and gentle words 
seemed to be like balm to his patient. Also, the study of a 
heart-disease was a peculiar hobby of the good doctor’s ; there- 
fore, it was not to be wondered at that he fell into a brown 
study in trying how he could beguile Mrs. Laird into his wishes, 
and went to bed very well satisfied that he had succeeded. 

On the morrow Philip was removed into the doctor’s house, 
with every care and precaution. To do Mrs. Laird justice, 
when she made up her mind to a thing, she entered into every 
detail of it, as if the original idea was her own, and had for 
some time been her sole wish. 

She had routed up the good doctor at peep of day ; she had 
cleaned, dusted, and tidied the blue room ; she had prepared 
several little savory messes ; she received Philip as her own son, 
and, taking forcible possession of him, she had him placed 
between the snow-white homespun linen sheets, and surrounded 
him with everything fresh and clean. 

She viewed, with great satisfaction, his pale, white face 
assume a look of pleasure at the change from the dismal lodging 
to the cheerful, sunny chamber ; then, seeing him gaze anx- 
iously around, she said, — 

“ What more want ye ? ” 

u Lotty*” said Philip, feebly. 

“ Here, Philip,” said a voice outside ; and a little fairy child 
came and sat at the foot of the bed. 

Before Mrs. Laird had time to recover her astonishment, a 
great dog followed, and lay at her feet. 

In her anxiety about Philip, Mrs. Laird had forgotten the 
existence of the “ little lass ; ” but when the hound followed and 
laid himself down as if he were perfectly at home, her wrath 
overflowed. 

“ And what ten a beast do you ca’that?” she said, with a 
vinegar aspect, to Lotty. 

11 He is a Scotch bloodhound, ma’am,” she answered. 

u Scotch or not, div ye think I’ll allow such a beastie as that 
in my best chamber?” 

“ Go down, Bear, and lay by the front door until I come,” 
said Lotty. 

Bear got up, and a, meek look of supplication addressed 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


228 


to Mrs. Laird, he slowly departed, with his tail in a dejected 
and forlorn droop. 

Mrs. Laird looked astonished, but said nothing. She fol- 
lowed Bear out, and having apparently watched him, came back 
with a red face. 

“ What sort of a dog is you, that he kens a’ ye say, like ony 
Christian? said she, to Lotty. 

“ He is a very good, sensible dog, ma’am. I will take care 
he shall give no trouble, if you will let him remain.” 

“ I maun judge for mysel’ first, afore I mak rash promises.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Weel, noo, if you’ll promise to be good and quiet, ye may 
stop with your brither a bit, while I step for a sup broth.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am.” 

“What’s the matter wi’ you, my man?” said Mrs. Laird, 
seeing a cloud passing over Philip’s face. 

“ She is my wife,” said Philip. 

“ The Lord be gude to us all ! — he is raving.” 

“ No, ma’am,” said Lotty. “ I am eighteen years old 
nearly.” 

“ O doctor, doctor ! — come yer ways ; here’s a tale to tell ! ” 
and Mrs. Laird hurried out. 


CHAPTER LIY. 

“Do you feel more easy, Philip?” said Lotty, after Mrs. 
Laird’s abrupt departure. 

“ Yes, Lotty ; this room is pleasant.” 

“ I must make some arrangements about our lodging and 
board, Philip ; you would not like to be here on charity.” 

“ No, no, of course not. You will find as much money as 
you want in my writing-case.” 

“ I may use it all, then? ” 

“ Yes, yes, use what you like, take what you like ; we can 
pay liberally, I have enough. But, Lotty, do not leave me.” 

“ I shall not while you are ill, Philip.” 

“ Thank you.” 

“ Shall I read to you, Philip? ” 

“ Yes ; but sit where you are.” 


224 


MARGARET 


Lotty did not read long ; for Mrs. Laird, having recovered her 
wits, now brought in the sup broth.” 

While administering it she proceeded to unburden her mind 
of various matters, the foremost of which was the horror and 
shock she felt, that with a wife (though but a child) he had suf- 
fered himself to get entangled with Madame La Luce. 

Philip’s face grew flushed, and the bed-clothes began to 
heave. 

“ Ma’am,” said Lotty, “ he does not like Madame La Luce 
any more than you do.” 

“ At no hand say her name, bairn ; it’s no fit for the like o’ 
you.” 

“ But you agitate Mr. Leigh, ma’am, and it was owing to her 
he had these spasms.” 

“ O, ay ! and was that it? We el, I’ll say nae mair. If it 
wasna his fault, it’s no me as will say ane word more abune 
the matter. I see the hail thing the noo, and I dinna think it 
strange that a madame like that should hae been tuke wi’ his 
bonny luiks. Ech ! puir bairns, ye hae had a grand miss o’ ill, 
and its weel ye had the good speerit, my man, to thraw Satan 
behind ye.” 

u Shall I give him the broth, ma’am?” said Lotty ; “ you have 
so much to do.” 

“ Weel, mind now ye dinna give it owre hot. It’s nae mair 
nor right that ye should learn yer duty as a wife.” 

And Mrs. Laird departed, without seeing that whatever good 
her broth might have done, her words were stings to Philip. 

“ Lotty, Lotty, do you forgive me ? ” 

“ Yes, Philip.” 

“ Your simple yes is to me what a solemn oath w r ould be from 
another. I may feel it so, may I not, Lotty ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, Philip,” said Lotty, touched with his weak and 
faltering voice. 

“ I should like to know what feeling prompts you, Lotty, to 
hide what you might so truly expose to your own honor and 
credit ? ” 

“As I hope for mercy myself, Philip, so would I give it 
others.” 

“ Mercy ! ” said Philip, echoing her word ; “ why should you 
require mercy?” 

“ We are all sinners before God, Philip, and all have need of 
mercy.” 

“ And do you believe so truly in a God, Lotty?” 


225 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 

“ Th fool hath said in his heart, ‘ There is no God/ ” she 

answered, with solemn emphasis. 

Phlip colored, and remained silent for some time. 

4 Has the doctor said anything to you, Lotty, about my ill- 

nes? Does he think it will be long before I am better?” 

“ I do not know, Philip.” 

“ I should like to speak to him when he has time,” said 
Philip. 

“Very well, Philip; but now pray try to sleep; the doctor 
said you were to keep quiet.” 

44 Will you remain where you are?” 

“ Yes, Philip.” 

He shut his eyes, and she sat in her child’s attitude at the 
bottom of the bed, reading. And so they remained for an hour, 
but she knew he did not sleep. 

At the end of that time Mrs. Laird entered. 

“ Weel, bairn, ye hae been vara quiet. I hae been to the 
door, peeping through yon chink, and aye seen ye at yer post. 
So when ye get weel, Mr. Leigh, ye’ll have to remember she did 
‘her best, though she is sae young. But now, bairn, gang ye to 
the big hound ; he joost breaks my heart, ganging by the door- 
mat ; he looks that wistful at me. His een say as well as ony 
Christian, 4 Hoo long do ye mean to keep me biding here?’ 
And he’ll no stir for ony of us.” 

“ May I bring him up here, ma’am?” said Lotty. 

“ Nae, bairn, gang yer ways first oot o’ the door, and get a bit 
fresh air, with the big doggie, and then may be I’ll see about 
letting him go ben the house.” 

“ Shall you want me, Philip?” 

“ I want you always, Lotty ; but go.” 

“ O, ay, gang awa’ ; ye wadna, Mr. Leigh, keep a young thing 
like thon fra the Lord’s air. She’ll joost gang into the garden, 
and I’ll be sitting in thon chair watching her, to see she gets into 
nae mischief.” 

“ Can I see her? ” said Philip, eagerly. 

“No, dinna you stir ; JL’ll tell ye a’ the news as I sit. Ech ! 
but, mon, I dinna understand ye. Hardly lettipg the bairn out 
o’ your sight, and then letting that hussie have speech o’ her.” 

“ What is she doing now, Mrs. Laird? ” 

“ Why, she is rinning here, there, and everywhere, and the 
big doggie is after her, and they are like twa bairns at play. 
Ay ! but it’s wonderfu’, how he threeps after that bit thing. 
Has she nae mither, that she gaed that young lass marry you, 
Mr. Leigh?” 


tfZO MARGARET 

“ No, she had no mother.” 

“I thought so! and ye being, nae doubt, knowi 
ye think it wad be a guid purpose o’ marriage, to tit chi! 
down in her early years? Ye couldna have expected her 
woman of wife-like pairts.” 

The hot tears burst from Philip’s eyes ; they had been ‘ 
ing long, and Mrs. Laird was silent and watchful in her ef is 
to calm his agitation. 

Though she had many a secret misgiving as to the cause of 
this bitter weeping on the part of a man who looked as if he was 
one of Nature’s finest works, she did not like to ask him more 
questions ; but .settled in her own mind she would give the 
thoughtless child-wife many a lecture on the duty of comporting 
herself discreetly. For such tefcrs could only have been extorted 
by some heavy domestic disappointment. 

In the evening the doctor was closeted long with his patient, 
and Mrs. Laird took the opportunity of giving her first lecture 
to Lotty, whom Philip had desired not to be present. 

u I am thinking, my bairn, if ye paid half as much attention 
to Mr. Leigh as ye do to yer dog, he wad be better content.” 

“ Did he say so ma’am?” asked Lotty, quickly. 
u Nae, he said nothing, but he wept salt tears, and nae man 
does that wi’out heart’s sorrow.” 

Mrs. Laird perceived, with much shock, that Lotty seemed 
pleased to hear her husband had been weeping. 

“ Nay, ma’am,” said she, in answer to her reproof, u I did 
not mean to be heartless, but people do not weep unless their 
hearts are soft and tender.” 

“ But, bairn, if you put on him owre much, nae wonder ye 
make his heart hard.” 

u I will try not to put on him then, ma’am,” said Lotty. 
u That’s my gude bairn. May the Lord but please to grant 
him his health, and ye will turn out a grand wife yet. But hae 
ye nae relations, child ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am, of all kinds.” 

“ And has he?” 
u Yes, ma’am.” 

“ And how ctrni ye to this heathenish place, no one near ye, 
and no servants ? ” 

u Philip wished it, ma’am.” 

“ And are ye weel off ? no that the doctor or me is to say 
money lovers, and I hae taken ye into my house, and that is just 
next to taking ye into my heart, and if Philip, as ye call him, 
but mends, that’3 a’ the recompense Janet Laird wants.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


il Philip told me, ma’am, to give you this money ; and as wo 
are not poor, he trusts that you will allow us to pay for every- 
thing, the same as if you had kindly taken us in as lodgers. 
But you must sutfer me to say, that no money, nothing, we can 
give, will repay you, in our thoughts, for this truly Samaritan 
kindness.” 

“ Bairn, bairn, dinna talk like that ! we are sair wearied living 
in this evil place, and that makes one fashious ; hut I had a lad 
brither, just like your Philip, and my heart warms to him.” 

“ You are very kind, ma’am, and I thank you also for your 
goodness to Bear, for — for ” Here Lotty’s voice faltered. 

“ Say nae mair ; the doggie is unco queer, and I think not 
quite canny, but he is vara welcome, as long as he is discreet. 
But deed o’ goodness, bairn ! div - ye ken how much money is 
here ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am, nearly two hundred pounds of English money, 
and forty-eight pounds in foreign money, and you can have as 
much more when you wish it.” 

“ Weel, I’ll tak care on it then,” said Mrs. Laird, with a sigh. 

“ Why do you sigh, ma’am?” 

“ If we had the half o’ that, every year, I wad be back in 
our ain country.” 

“ This is yours, at all events, ma’am,” said Lotty. 

“ Hoot, bairn ! more than twa hundred pounds ! It’s little 
ye ken about money ; we’ll tak what’s fitting, just to mak ye 
feel at hame, but na mair, I can certify.” 


CHAPTER LV. 

The doctor’s face was grave and sad as he left Philip’s room. 
“ Eh, doctor ! but ye dunna think he’ll die? ” 

He shook his head. 

“ Have you told him?” said Lotty, anxiously looking up into 
his face. 

u I was feared it might hurt him,” said the doctor. 

“ O, sir, ought he, should he, be permitted to die unprepared? 
Will you kindly think of this?” 

As she spoke, Bear came into the room, and putting up his 
paw, tapped her on the arm. 


22 8 


MARGARET 


“ Philip calls, sir ; but if there is no hope, O ! hide it not, for 
the love of God.” And she left the room. 

“ Deed, Alick, she is no canny, heartless bairn, talking in 
that way, and joost hearing she may lose her fine, winsome hus- 
band. And the hound Deed, if they gae on this queer 

way, I’ll be demented. And she so sweet spoken too. You 
may depend on it, Alick, she has broke his heart with coldness.” 

“But aye body speaks well on her, Janet, and the auld nurse 
said she had had naething to do last night. The young leddy 
was up at the first word.” 

“ I dinna ken what to mak o’ her, Alick, for old Madame 
Wegel’s bonne has been here a crying after her. But I’ll think 
nae mair ; they must gang their ain ways, if they winna seek 
counsel o’ me. But div ye think he’ll dee, Alick?” 

“ Naething but a miracle will save him, Janet.” 

“I’ll just gang to the chink o’ the door, may be he’s axing her, 
and she’ll just flit him aff, if she spaks out to him.” And Mrs. 
Laird departed to listen, so that she might make amends for any 
heartlessness on the part of the little wife ; but to say the truth, 
she was laboring under an ungovernable fit of curiosity. 

“ Lotty, did the doctor tell you nothing about my illness? ” 

“ I had not time to hear more, Philip, than that his opinion 
was unfavorable.” 

“ Then you will triumph, Lotty. Death will free you forever 
from your chain.” 

“ Nay, Philip, talk not so. Do you think me so base in heart 
and feeling as to rejoice in the prospect of your death?” 

“ Why should you be different from the rest of the world ? 
You hate me, and you will be rid of me.” 

“I do not hate you, Philip, and never did.” 

“ Ah, Lotty, if I could but think that.” 

“ I could not have married you, Philip, had I not liked you, 
whatever my father’s commands had been ; and you were fast 
gaining my grateful affections, by your forbearance at that time. 
I wished to love you, Philip. I tried to do so, not only because 
of his wishes, but the void in my heart at his loss was so aching. 
But ” 

“ But what, Lotty? Go on, go on ; if I had only known that 
before.” 

“ You did, Philip. I told you. Do you not remember my 
warning you, that my love was not to be forced, only gained? ” 

“I remember that conversation well. I have pondered over 
it often. 1 determined to make you love me my own way.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


229 


“ Yes, Philip.” 

44 And, Lotty, did you refuse me your affection, because in my 
man’s pride I would take no advice how to win it?” 

44 No, Philip, that you know is not the case. I love what is 
good, great, generous, and frank. Did you act thus towards 
me ? ” 

44 I loved but you, Lotty.” 

44 And yourself, Philip.” 

44 Then you mean to insinuate I have wrecked my own hap- 
piness.” 

44 I do not insinuate, Philip. What I said so soon after out- 
marriage, I say now. My love was to be won. I pointed out 
to you the way, which I would not have done to other than my 
husband. You took the opposite path.” 

44 Whatever path I took, it seems that I, with a love in my 
heart not equalled by mortal man, am doomed, — doomed to an 
early death, — and you ” 

“Will pray that you may live, Philip,” interrupted Lotty, 
solemnly. 

“ Ah,” said Philip, eagerly, “ is that true? Say it again, my 
wife.” 

“ O, Philip, it is true that your life is in danger ! Can you 
think of meeting your God, unprepared, unrepentant ? ” 

“ Is that the reason why you would pray for my recovery?” 

“ Yes, Philip.” 

“ And would you rather that I should live, live, Lotty, to be 
what I have been to you, perhaps worse, if that can be, than die, 
as you say, 4 unprepared to meet your God ’ ? ” 

“ Yes, Philip.” 

44 Come here, and look at me. Ah, matchless eyes in beauty 
and color, but glorious in their truth aud clearness, look full at 
me ! Could you live on through this long life, separated from 
all you love, subjected to every trial and indignity, that you so 
well know can be inflicted upon you, for the hope that you might 
save a lost soul ? ” 

44 Yes, Philip.” 

44 Then your God shall be mine ; teach me to pray to him 
that, whether I live or die, you may have the reward you merit. 
Lotty, you have conquered.” 

44 Nay, Philip, it was not I who entered the lists ; it was one 
Philip against another. You have conquered yourself ; but your 
heart beats. If you love Lotty, as you say you do, you will calm 
yourself at present, and rest.” 


230 


MARGARET 


“ If I love Lotty ? ” murmured Philip. u I thought I did ; but 
I loved my own mad will better. Will you read to me — read 
the Bible, read that one verse agaiu, — ‘ The fool hath said in 
his heart, There is no God * ? ” 

She plaeed herself before him, aud a lofty, pure expression 
came over the lovely child-face, as she opened the Holy Book to 
teach the worldly-wise man. 

With unerring judgment she turned from one passage to an- 
other. In the glowing language of Isaiah, the attributes of the 
Holy Trinity, the Father, the Son, the Comforter, were shown to 
him. Then the fallen, abject state of man. And with voice that 
thrilled him with its earnestness, she poured forth the ever-living 
words of David, as he bared his heart, and the heart of every 
man, before God. 

“ Ah ! Lotty, how true, how just. Is it you that speak to me 
in such language, or is it meant for me? Surely the name of 
Philip Leigh must be written there. Say it aloud — nay, spare me 
nothing, for that was, that must have been written solely for me.” 

“ Nay, Philip, be calm. Recollect how necessary it is that 
you refrain from all excitement. Try and sleep now ; to-mor- 
row I will read again.” 

“How do you pray, Lotty? I know you pray every night 
and morniug. I should like to hear you.” 

Lotty knelt down, and repeated the simple form of prayer 
with which she concluded each day. It was still much in the 
same form as when a child at school she used it, and its touch- 
ing simplicity went through to Philip’s heart. She paused a 
moment, and then whisperingly said his name, with a petition 
that God would open his eyes, and unseal his heart. It was a 
prayer he felt she must have repeated daily, and then with 
solemn earnestness she said the Lord’s prayer. He repeated it 
after her. 

“ You always say that?” he whispered. 

“ Always,” she answered. 

“ I thank God for it ! ” and he fell quietly asleep. 

When Lotty left him for a short time, to go to Mrs. Laird, 
she found that old lady weeping. 

“ My bairn,” she said, u I liae been at the chink in the door, 
and though I couldna hear much, I saw ye open the Holy Book, 
and I hope God will bless yer labors. I took ye for ane o’ a 
hard heart, but somehoo ye hae mair thought than I kenned, 
and it wad be a burning sin did that fine laddie die with his sins 
nae forgiven.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


231 


“ You will help me then, ma’am,” said Lotty, taking her hand 
and kissing it. 

“ Bless the bonnie bairn ! ” said Mrs. Laird, folding her in 
her strong embrace, “ I am ready to die for ye baith ; and hoo' 
it comes about I canna rightly say, for I kenned naething about 
either on you yestermorn.” 

“ It shows, ma’am, how kind your heart is,” said Lotty. 

“ Weel noo, we maun all gang to bed ; it has been a day of 
wonders, and nae mortal can tell what new thing may hap on 
the morrow.” 


CHAPTER LYI. 

In the night Philip had so severe a return of the spasms, that 
for several days he lay faint and exhausted, with the damp and 
the hue of death on his face, and scarcely any perceptible life in 
him. 

Mrs. Laird had no reason to doubt “ the bairn’s ” care for 
him. It seemed that Philip was sufficiently conscious to refuse 
all food but what her hand presented, hear no voice save hers, 
while the good doctor would say, — 

“ That’s a wonderful young thing, that bairn wife, she forgets 
naething ; and yet I dinna think she luves her husband as he 
does her.” 

“ That’s what’s sending me joost crackit, Alick ; such a 
bonnie fine lad, too, and when I get fashed wi’ her steady, 
cauld ways, wi’ nae heart in them, she luiks at me with them 
stars o’ eyes, and I wad joost think her a bit angel, and could 
love the ground she stands on. And that big doggie, they’re 
a pair on ’em. He is a lying at this minute on ma best parlor 
door mat, and, wad ye believe it, I tak it up stairs inysel, joost 
for him, for as he wadna leave the bairn, I didna think I could 
sleep weel if he liadna a saft bed too.” 

Ech ! Janet, ye had always the kind heart.” 

“And have ye tell’t the lad Philip he canna mend?” said 
she. 

“ Ay, Janet, when the spasms was bad, he luiks at me and 
said, ‘Is this death?’ and I answered, k The Lord so wills it.’ 
Then the bairn wife stoopit down, and kissed him on the cheek, 
and he lookit awfu’ at her, and said, k Do ye this for the first 


282 


MARGARET 


time, because you will soon be free?’ 1 No, Philip,’ said she, 
4 from sorrow and pity.’ Then went he aff again, worse i«:or 
ever, and I didna think, Janet, he would liae lived till morn.” 

u Ay ! mon, they are past my kenning, wi’ their odd ways, 
as man and wife. First time, indeed ! I dinna think I was 
ever but a discreet, prudent body, but I gav you a wife’s kiss on 
the asking, Alick.” 

4 ‘ She is sae young, Janet, and may be they have nae been 
laug married ; I wonder has she written liame. It is time his 
friends should know, though it may be weeks yet afore the 
end.” 

When Philip had so far recovered as to talk and sit up for a 
few hours of the day, Lotty perceived that a gloomy spirit was 
in possession of his mind. She had not expected that he would 
always be in the soft and gentle mood that he was before the 
last seizure, so her gentle anxiety was nothing daunted. 

Mrs. Laird was sitting at the window, in his room, while 
Lotty was taking her usual run in the garden with Bear. 

“ Do you see her, Mrs. Laird ? ” said Philip. 

a Yes, she is ganging slowly down the broad path, and the 
big doggie is sorrowful by her side, and he has getten her 
little wee hand in his mou.” 

“Have they had no race together? has she not played with 
him as usual ? ” 

“ Noo, they are joost down-casted, baith on ’em,” said Mrs. 
Laird ; “ though she is no wife-like in her ways, she has aye a 
warm heart, Mr. Leigh.” 

This was a feeler on the part of Mrs. Laird to extract some- 
thing from Philip, who, however, made no reply. 

“ She was married owre young, Mr. Leigh, and I dinna think 
ye kenned how to beguile her into wife’s ways.” 

“ Trying to do so has brought me to this pass,” he said 
gloomily, as if to himself. 

“ I doubt she hasna been canny with him,” said Mrs. Laird 
to herself; “men are sae queer, thinking they are lords of 
creation, and never deeving there must be leddies too.” 

“ What is she doing now? ” said Philip again. 

“ She’s drooping still mair, and the hound’s tail sweeps the 
ground.” 

“ Then you think she is in sorrow? ” said Philip, eagerly. 

“ It looks vara like it, and to an auld body like me, I dinna 
luve to see young things greet. Sae, Mr. Leigh, if ye hae ony 
thing on your mind, atween her and you, get it settled sune ; ye 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


233 


wadna like to die, and leave her so young wi’ a canker in her 
heart.” 

“ That would more surely be the case if I lived, Mrs. Laird,” 
said Philip, bitterly. 

“ The rights between you I canna tell, as ye’ll no seek coun- 
sel of ane wha is willing to gie it. But ony way, my moil, 
dinna gang to meet your Maker wi’ an unrepented sin on your 
heart.” 

Philip was silent, but his eyes were fixed on the wiudow, as 
if he tried to catch a glimpse of the garden. 

“ She faulds her hands and she luiks up to Heaven ; maybe 
she is sending up a prayer to Heaven for ye, Mr. Leigh,”, said 
Mrs. Laird, who, mindful of her promise to Lotty, was endeavor- 
ing to fulfil it. 

“And do you think there is a being who hears such prayers?” 
he answered. 

“ Ech ! laddie, speak not so awfu’ like. Div ye think the 
meanest daisy that turns its wee star-face to the sky graws by 
chance ? or div ye think yon winsome child, whom ye have set 
up as an idol in yer heart, was man’s wark ? Can ye see nae 
signs of a high and wonderful hand in that fair face, that gra- 
cious spirit?” 

“ ’Tis true,” murmured Philip, “a God only could have 
formed her. But is he a just God, to bless one with such per- 
fection, and to curse others with such infirmity ? ” 

“ Each ane has their gifts, if they wad but see them.” 

“ But each have not the same advantages, the same opportu- 
nities given them, of learning their duty.” 

“ As how, Mr Leigh? ” 

“ I had no early religious training ; my parents gave me no 
instruction or example.” 

“ And wlia’s the differ, man? The Lord made it up till ye 
by gi’ing ye that angel-child in yer braw manhood. Then ye 
Avad be no the waur for thanking him night and day for such a 
gift. 4 The Lord is righteous in all his ways, and holy in all 
his works.’ What he takes in ane away, he gives twafold in 
another. But dinna greet ; I see yer smitten wi’ yer ingratitude, 
and it’s weel ye suld be.” 

It is true Philip was smitten with a sudden awe, inexplicable 
to him. It seemed as if his heart and soul were filled with a 
wonder and amazement he had never felt before. The vastuess 
of the creative powers of an all-powerful and unseen God made 
him feel himself as the merest atom of dust. And yet the 


284 


MARGARET 


beauty, the comprehensiveness, the power of such a Being, filled 
his senses with a high and elevating feeling, that made him — 
the proud, the unbending Philip Leigh — wish to adore with the 
humility and meekness of a child. An agitation ran through his 
whole frame, but it seemed at once so delightful, so soothing, 
that his heart grew calm and his face serene under its influ- 
ence. 

He seemed to realize that he had a Father, a Friend, a 
Saviour near him, on his pillow, in his heart, and the thirst of a 
hungry, dying soul came over him. 

“ Where is my wife?” he said at last. 

“ She is sitting on the grass, wi’ an open letter on her knee ; 
but she talks to the hound, and whiles he puts a pa"w on her 
arm, and whiles he licks her hands, and I’m thinking, like ony 
Christian, he is trying to comfort her.” 

“ Will you ask her *o come to me?” 

“ Ay, laddie. I need but tap, and she’ll be up, like the flitting 
of a rose-leaf.” 

u Lotty, will you again read to me?” said Philip, as she 
appeared. 

This time Lotty read out of the Gospels ; and as her soft voice 
said the words of the parable of the Prodigal Son, Philip stretched 
out both hands, and said, “ ‘ Father, I have sinned against 
heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called 
thy son ; ’ but forgive me, O, forgive me ! ” 

u Amen ! ” said Lotty solemnly. 

From that hour the spirit of a humble child came upon 
Philip. 

He poured forth to Lotty the long-concealed feelings of his 
heart, the evil tree of envy and malice that so grew and flour- 
ished there. He laid bare the proud, bitter feelings, that 
prompted him to turn from her loving efforts, and trust only to 
his own haughty, determined will ; and the more that little, slight 
frame enveloped itself in its own mantle of rectitude and patience, 
so the more did he determine that it should bend and break to 
his will. 

In everything had he failed ; with each trial she seemed but 
further removed from him after each attempt, but more resolute 
and conquering. 

u And, ah, Lotty ! ” he continued one day, u you remember 
when I returned to the chateau, and you asked me if I had been 
ill ; then, and then only, did a bitter feeling of remorse and de- 
spair seize me, and a sense of humiliation appeared to break me 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


235 


down into the dust. But such was my infatuation, such my 
blind madrtess, that, with this feeling of despair in my heart, 
with a whispering in my. soul to forbear, to give all up, and 
wait your own time, your own wishes, I yet determined to make 
this last trial. ’Twas made, and I lie here on my death-bed ! ” 

Lotty could only bid him be calm ; she felt that such remorse 
was good for him. 

“ You have had a letter to-day, Lotty,” he said. 

“ Yes ; one from Margaret.” 

“ May I hear it? ” 

“ Willingly, Philip.” 

And as if her heart was the heart that wrote, Lotty read out 
the letter, with all the pathos and feeling it deserved. 

“No wonder she mourns for you, my Lotty — '■her best 
Lotty;’ but you will soon be with her! Ah, wonderful is this 
love in woman ! — so pure, so constant ! — she will not think 
her Harold guilty. And he is not, Lotty, in this. I can make 
amends to Harold for many a dark thought — many a wicked 
wish. She wishes to go to Cowes, does she? to see the rooms 
he used — the place he trod last. True woman! — and only 
cares to have his name cleared. It will be. And, 1 think, 
Lotty, it is reasonable that wish to go to Cowes, for he may 
have left some papers ; you may learn some circumstance that 
will throw a light on his strange and inexplicable conduct. For 
if ever a man loved his wife, Harold did, I know. Ah, poor 
thing! — poor, forlorn, unhappy heart, how you mourn and are 
weary! Write to her — comfort her, Lotty; tell her you will 
soon be with her, and that I leave you to her as a legacy — such 
a legacy as I owe for unloyal thoughts of her, for undue judg- 
ment of her character, the first time I saw her. And now send 
my good doctor, to me while you are absent.” 


CHAPTER L V 1 1 . 

Under the influence of these new feelings, so calm and 
soothing, Philip’s health mended rapidly, so that he was enabled 
to be taken out for a short airing two or three times. 

Mr. Laird had petitioned him to write either to his friends or 
his wife’s, but Philip would not hear of it. 


236 


MARGARET 


“ No, no ; I will have no one come between her and me. Let 
me have her all to myself for the short time you permit me to 
think I may live.” 

During this time Lotty had endeavored, with all her best 
energies, to lead him on in the path of peace and holiness ; arid 
with wonderful eagerness and thirsting he drank in every word 
— every draught she gave him. Such was the influence of his 
conduct, that Mrs. Laird again elevated him on to the topmost 
pinnacle of her favor, and no son could have appeared more dear 
to her, and for no child could she have exerted herself more. 

The bairn-wife sank into a second-rate thought, with her big 
doggie, unless they administered to Philip’s comfort. 

“ I almost think, Lotty,” said Philip, one day, “ that if I go on 
improving so much in strength, I may reach home. I long to 
see my home with the new eyes and heart your God has given 
me. I dream of it at night, and often think, Lotty, that it 
would be now to me what it ought to have been before.” 

“ Yes, Philip ; and we might ask Mr. and Mrs. Laird to come 
home with us. She wants to leave this place ; and you know, -a 
medical man was required at Warrington, before we came away, 
for the new schools and college, and we might get the appoint- 
ment for him.” 

“ You think of every one, Lotty. In a day or two we will 
propose it, for there will be less danger attendant on the journey, 
with the good doctor near ; and, besides, should anything occur 
to me, you will not be alone.” 

“ Now, then, we will go for a drive, for I see the little vehicle 
coming up the street. Pun, Bear, and bring Philip’s hat.” 

“Ah ! Lotty, I gave you that dog ; I gave you that one source 
of happiness.” 

“You did, Philip, and never was gift more prized, more be- 
loved. Ah ! good Bear, Lotty owes you much, that no one but 
you and Lotty know ; and yet, I dare say, we have yet much 
more for which we shall have to be grateful.” 

It was not to be supposed that Madame La Luce would let 
the rich and handsome young Englishman slip through her 
fingers without a struggle. Certainly, if any one (Philip him- 
self) had told her, that he but used her services to make his 
wife jealous, she could not, would not, have believed them. 

The thing would have been inexplicable to her. She believed 
her own charms so irresistible, Philip could be actuated by no 
other motive than adoration of her. For a short time, under- 
standing from the doctor that he was dying, she had dismissed 


ANT) HER BRTDE8MATDR. 


237 


Hm from her thoughts, with little difficulty, as dead. Upon 
hearing however that he was better, she cast about in her mind 
how she should accomplish an interview. So she wrote a note, 
which, with a handsome bribe, she gave, herself, to- one of strict 
Mrs. Laird’s servants, desiring it might be delivered into Mr. 
Leigh's own hands quietly. 

The foreign servant, delighted even without a bribe to do a 
deed she knew her hard and decorous mistress would utterly ab- 
hor, executed her task with a tact worthy of Madame La Luce’s 
own maid ; Philip was in possession of the letter, without any 
one but the servant knowing it. 

He languidly opened it, and after reading the contents, he 
called Bear, and gave it to him to play with. 

It was a pity Madame La Luce was not a fly on the wall, to 
see the note upon which she had spent such pathos and senti- 
ment now crunching into little nasty bits, under the destructive 
powers of the “ bete effroyable.” 

On the following day, receiving no answer, she sent another 
note by the po^t. When Philip saw the handwriting, he called 
Bear again, and as if it were Madame La Luce herself, Bear 
could not, apparently, have derived more satisfaction in tearing 
the unopened letter into a thousand bits. 

Mrs. Laird would have fainted had she known whose hand 
penned the fragments she so tidily picked up and put into the 
fire. 

Altogether Bear was favored with a good many of those 
notes, of whose contents no one knew anything but himself. 

But Madame La Luce, knowing nothing of all this, still flat- 
tered herself, and wrote, but was taken greatly by surprise one 
day, at seeing the sick man, whom she supposed too weak to 
answer letters, driving out with the young child-wife beside him. 

She wrote to express her delight at his recovery ; but, as 
Bear did not tell what was in the letter, of course no one was 
aware of it. 

Still finding that no responses came, Madame grew indignant, 
then angry, then revengeful, and then cunning. She would 
make the proud Englishman return to her. 

On this day therefore, when they were driving out, the coach- 
man suddenly stopped, and before either Lotty or Philip could 
have prevented her, Madame had tripped up the little steps of 
the carriage, and seated herself opposite to them. 

“ Drive on,” she said, with cool effrontery ; which the coach- 
man, already bribed, aud in the plot, did. 


MAROARRT 


23.8 


u Ah! M. Leigh, how charmer , how enchantee! je suis de 
vous voir , and so well, ctussi, so strong, so lively, so yourself ; 
and your littel sister, so pretty, so fresh. Ah ! mon Dim! quel 
honheur inattenda .” 

Philip’s eyes flashed, and Lotty saw with alarm that the blue 
tint of suppressed passion and rage was gathering round his lips. 

u Be calm, Philip,” she said, u dear Philip,” looking into his 
face with such genuine anxiety, love, and pity, that he felt she 
loved him then, and tried to answer her, by pressing her hands 
with tender force. “ We are in the public streets now, dear 
Philip, and this coachman is bribed. Be calm, dear, until we 
get into the lane ; she cannot hurt me, she shall not hurt you.” 

“ Ma foi ! I oblige, truly ; I much oblige, Miss, your English 
politesse, O, so great-! 0, I forget, you Mrs. Leigh, dat lady 
so ver polite to me one time, she set her great chien to me ! Ah ! 
mon Dieu ! I never forget, so I vill take my littel revenge ; ve 
vill take drive together through de town. Coachman, go all 
through de town ; I wish to be ver civil and polite, so I put on 
my bonnet a-la-mode , just from Paris, and all my fine things, to 
do you honor, M. Leigh.” 

As she spoke, the carriage began to go up hill, and at a foot’s 
pace. One clear, sweet whistle, and Bear was on the seat by 
Madame La Luce. Dirty and damp with his run through the 
wet streets, his great tail went switching over Madame La 
Luce’s face and bonnet, blinding her eyes, and destroying her 
personal appearance. For a moment he thought he had been 
called into the carriage only for a frolic with his dear mistress, 
but a scream from Madame La Luce changed his whole nature. 

Every bristle raised, his eyes becoming blood-red, his fangs 
glistening, Bear gave a savage growl, and sprang towards her. 
Lotty threw her arms round him, to restrain him, while Madame 
uttered shriek after shriek. 

“ Get out,” said Lotty, “ I cannot hold him long.” 

With one spring, Madame jumped ; but the coachman having 
been told to care for no row in the carriage, had not yet checked 
his horses, though Madame’s shrieks and the dog’s growls were 
beginning to make him think that he had better not obey orders. 
Therefore she fell with considerable violence on the road. 

t; Bear, watch Philip,” said Lotty, and sprang out to help her. 
But the coachman, confused and amazed at the extraordinary 
and unexpected result of the intended drive, and the horses 
being half unmanageable with the cries and screams, and their 
being so suddenly checked on the hill, all made him, in some 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


m 


inexplicable manner, back the carriage, so that it went over the 
prostrate form of Madame La Luce. Some people came up at 
that moment, attracted by the cries, and, leaving them to assist 
the unhappy Avoman, Lotty was at Philip’s side again in a 
moment. 

“ May I wait, Philip, to see if she is much hurt, and to place 
^ her in safety ? ” 

He nodded an assent, for he could not speak, yet Philip was 
trying to exercise his neAV feelings, and strove to hide from 
Lotty the agony he Avas suffering. 

“Are you sure you would not rather go home?” 

“ Go,” said Philip. 

They had not to wait long, for one of Madame’s oavu servants 
came to her rescue and help. 

She was not stunned or senseless, for, as they lifted her up, 
she cast a malignant, hateful glance at Philip, and screamed 
out, — 

“ You shall have de law, Mr. Leigh, you shall have de prison ! 
you shall be fined for de assault, for de Avicked treatment, and 
dat bet.e effroyable shall be shot.” 

“ Drive home,” said Lotty, “ and fast.” 

Deep sighs came from Philip ; the cold deAV burst from every 
pore. Lotty could hear the bounding heart beating as if mad 
from imprisonment ; the lips, the eyes, the clear, thin nostrils all 
blue, dark, death-like blue. Lotty Avrung her hands, as if irre- 
pressibly. 

“ For me,” gasped Philip, “ for me, she grieves ; Lotty, the 
punishment is just, that this w&man should be my death. But 
thanks to my Father in heaven, my Avife on earth, I die happy.” 

When the carriage stopped at Mr. Laird’s door, whither Bear 
had gone before, and brought the Avhole household there Avith 
his Avild baying, Mr. Laird lifted from Lotty’s shoulder the 
drooping head of a dead man, and bore- the lifeless corpse of 
Philip Leigh into the house, while Mrs. Laird folded the shud- 
dering, pale, panic-stricken Lotty in her sheltering arms, and 
carried her up to her OAvn bed. 

“ Dinna greet, my lamb, my bonnie bairn ! the doctor ay 
kenned he Avad gang off suddenly ; no but Avhat he thought him 
better, or he Avad not hae let ye gang yer lane. Weep a bit, my 
birdie, and dinna luik so staring like.” 

“ It was so horrible ! ” murmured Lotty. 

“ Like enough, my wee bit angel ! but he aye had time to say 
one word till ye, to bid ye farewell.” 


•240 


MARGARET 


** Yes, yes/’ said Lotty, eagerly, “ he said he died happy. 
But is he dead? are you sure he is dead ? 0 ! let me go to him ; 
he may be calling for me.” 

“ Ye shall come, if it will ease you, my bairn, and may be it 
will joost open the tear-drops. Dry eyes in muckle sorrow is 
aye a sign o’ brain mischief.” 

She again lifted up the little, light form, and carrying her 
down in her strong arms, she held her tight, while Lotty looked 
at the fine but lifeless form of her husband, stretched on the bed 
lie had left that morning with renewed signs of life and vigor. 

“Philip ! Philip ! ” she said. 

No answer : the dead cannot hear. 

“ O, let me down, Mrs. Laird ; let me speak close into his 
ear.” 

She suffered her to approach. 

As Lotty looked at the calm, dead face, with the smile of hap- 
piness yet lingering on the lir^, speaking again in voiceless 
words, “ I die happy,” the teaio burst forth in showers. 

“ Yes, he is dead ! he is really dead ! he will hear my voice no 
more ; he will never call Lotty again. He said that he died 
happy, and I, I am happy that he so died. Farewell, Philip, 
farewell ! You will, in God’s own time and of his merciful good- 
ness, see the Lotty you loved so strangely, again. Then shall 
we be as the angels of heaven, and part no more.” 

Kissing the broad, white, death-stricken brow, Lotty placed 
herself, liked a tired child, in Mrs. Laird’s sheltering arms, and 
said, “ Now take me away and love me, and let me be your 
child until they come for me.” # 

“ My ain sweet bairn ! my little pet lamb ! ” murmured Mrs. 
Laird, as she carried the little worn-out frame to her bed again ; 
and covering her up, she saw, with tears of pleasure, that the 
white lids closed, the sweet face grew calm, the pretty lips red, 
and the gentle breath went to and fro with a calm regularity. 
Lotty seemed to sleep as the first sleep of a new-born baby, half 
its dreams in heaven. 

While she was yet in this deep slumber, Mr. Laird was 
called to speak to an officer of justice. With the quiet common 
sense peculiar to Scottish character, Mr. Laird heard the official 
go through a long detail of crimes and assaults committed that 
day on the person of Madame La Luce, whose deposition having 
been taken, a warrant was issued by the chief magistrate to take 
up the body of the offender, and commit him to prison. And 
Mr. Laird looked at the warrant, and assenting to the officer’s 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


241 


remark, that all was apparently perfectly correct, asked quietly 
what further he wanted 

u I want the offender ; I have my officers here, and lie must 
go from hence immediately to prison.” 

u Mr. Philip Leigh?” said Mr. Laird, inquiringly. 

u Yes, Mr. Philip Leigh, immediately ; so 1 will cal) my 
assistants.” 

“ There is no occasion,” said Mr. Laird ; “ follow me.” 

“ This was Mr. Leigh,” continued Mr. Laird, pointing to the 
body, stretched out in its death-clothes. “ Return to the chief 
magistrate, and tell him, if necessary, I will call and explain the 
whole matter to him ; but that the chief offender and sinner in 
this case is Madame La Luce herself. That fine young man 
owes his sudden, fearful death to her. What more revenge 
wants she ? ” 

This conversation took place in the German language ; and 
as Mr. Laird poured forth his words in his strong, sonorous 
voice, the deep emotions of the day adding a solemn air to their 
effect, the officer drew back, appalled and speechless. 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

Mrs. Laird did not understand Lotty’s character yet. After 
that first emotion she showed no more. There was a quiet air 
of content about her that provoked Mrs. Laird beyond measure. 
She talked of Philip in a manner as serene and cheerful as if he 
were still up stairs, and wrote all her letters and arranged all his 
affairs without a tear. She seemed rather sorry when she heard 
that Madame La Luce’s leg was broken, and it was feared she 
would be lame for life. 

“ Poor thing ! ” murmured Lotty. 

u Puir thing, indeed ! ay, bairn ; but I misdoubt grief has 
turned yer brain, spaking in thon daft way.” 

“ Is she not to be pitied, Mrs. Laird? I think so, for many 
reasons.” 

“ Iloot awa ! set her oop i’ the cutty stuil, and I wadna pity 
her ; she letten yer bonny Philip dee in that awfu way, and no 
in his bed, like a gude Christian.” 

“ Put still she is to be pitied,” persisted Lotty. “ Philip is 
happy, and what is she?’* 


242 


MARGARET 


“ Weel awa ! ye’re past my kenning. When div ye think 
ye’ll hear fra your friends ? ” 

“ Iu three days now, I hope,” said Lotty ; u and then you 
will lose your plague and torment, Mi’s. Laird,” kissing her. 

u Eh ! bairn, ye hae coaxing ways, and wi’ a’ your queer 
doings, I am like to have a* sair heart when I lose the sight of 
ye. De ye think they’ll send ony body to fetch ye ? ” 

u 0 yes ! ” said Lotty, smiling. 

“ And did ye tell them to bring ye out widow’s mourning? 
Here’s yer husband been buried these ten days, and ye with no 
crimped cap on your head. In these outlandish pairts, they 
dinna ken what decency is ; and though I hae gettin you a guid 
silk dress of a deep black, with yards o’ crape, not in the hail 
town could I get yer widow’s cap.” 

“ But do you think my curls will go under a cap? ” 

“ Bairn ! bairn ! dinna be flighty ; we can cut the curls off, 
but ye maun be decent in yer weeds.” 

“ Cut off those curls ! ” said Mr. Laird ; “ never. I would 
rather cut off my leg.” 

“ Hoot, man ! dinna spoil the bairn, when I am spending my 
breath in learning her her duty. But, may be, ye hae sensible 
friends as will teach ye aright. Ye have nae mither ; have ye 
an aunt now ? ” 

“ No,” said Lotty. 

“ Nor a sister? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Nane but men folks?” 

a Yes, I have some aunts-in-law and cousins-in-law.” 

“ And wha dive ye think wull come for you? though I wish 
the day may be far off yet.” 

Perhaps a brother will come, or, perhaps, two ; or it may be 
one of my uncles, or, probably, a cousin.” 

“ Och ! set ye up, indeed ; de ye think all the world is ready 
to gang clattering o’er foreign pairts, after a bit thing like 
you ? ” 

“ They love me very much.” 

“ I’m thinking they could nae help it,” said Mr. Laird. 

“ Now, Alick, dinna fleech her up any mair, or, may be, she 
will be getting o’er full o’ liersel’, spite of a’ my counsels. But 
save us ! what’s at the door ? ” 

Lotty ran to the window, as the noise of a carriage was heard 
rattling up the street ; one look, and she bounded out of the 
room, down the stairs, out of the door, and when Mrs. Laird 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 243 

looked out after her, she saw her in the arms and embraces of 
so many people, she lost sight of her “ bairn” altogether. 

Outstripping the post by two days, rivalling the wind in their 
intense desire to get on, the loving Beauvillians had come for 

their girl.” 

Mrs. Laird stood in the middle of the best parlor floor. 

“ My dear uncle Tom ! Mrs. Laird,” said the sweet, thrilling 
voice, putting the large Beauvillian hand of fine, tall, bluff-look- 
ing uncle Tom into hers. Uncle Tom nearly shook it off. 

“ And kind uncle Ned.” bringing forward a larger, taller, 
more radiant uncle Ned, who nearly wrung off the other hand. 

“ And my two brothers, Norman and Walter, and cousin 
Frank ; dear, dear cousin Frank ! how is my Pro. ? ” 

And Lotty ran from one to the other, and each one took her 
up in his great arms, and would have gone on kissing her, if 
another had not been impatient to have her ; and then, at inter- 
mediate times, each and all shook hands over and over again 
with the amazed and astounded Mr. and Mrs. Laird. And then 
they all shock hands with each other, as if in such a state of 
congratulation and delight, that it was not to be expressed in 
any other form. 

“ We shall never forget your kindness,” said uncle Tom. 

“Your kindness to our girl, our dearest treasure,” said unci® 
Ned, taking up the measure. 

“ You demand our everlasting gratitude,” exclaimed Walter, 
going on. 

“ I am your servant for life,” continued Norman. 

“ Really you must excuse me, I am so overpowered ; will you 
oblige me by shaking hands again? ” wound up Mr. Frank. 

So they all start afresh, and then calming down again, they 
take the chairs offered mechauically by the bewildered hostess, 
and then they look at, scrutinize, with fond loving eyes, the 
change in “ their girl.” 

“ Did she look well?” 

“Yes; they thought she did. They all agreed she did not 
look ill.” So they all thanked and shook hands again with the 
Lairds. 

“Did she look sorrowful ? ” 

No ; shocking as it is to allow it of our perfect Lotty (though 
perfect people are very disagreeable), she did not look sorrow- 
ful. 

On the contrary, her heart seemed to bloom and expand under 
the cheering, happy influence of her own people. Mrs. Laird 


244 


MARGARET 


began to think there must be a dozen Lotties in the room, so 
bright, so fairy-like did she seem, as she went from one to the 
other. 

And amazing was it to the good couple to see how first one 
great, fine, tall old gentleman would rise from his chair, and 
walk across the room, apparently only to lay the large hand on 
the curly head, perhaps lift up the pretty face and kiss it, and 
then go back to his chair ; while another rose up and did the 
very same. Until at last, with abrupt, irrepressible truth, Mrs. 
Laird’s wonder burst out into words, — 

“ Lord save us ; how ye do love that bairn ! ” 

“ We do love her,” said one and all ; “ she is worthy of our 
love; she is our girl, our pride, our treasure — we dote on 
her.” 

Then was Lotty kissed again by all ; and the Lairds’ hands 
were again seized and shaken vehemently. 

No word was said of past events, no question asked of how 
and why. It was enough to the Beauvillians that they had their 
girl once more their own ; it was enough to Lotty that she had 
five pair of strong, brawny arms, not to be matched in England, 
that only opened to present her with a home. 

“ Nae wonder,” as Mrs. Laird whispered to her faithful spouse, 
“ that the bairn was unco queer in her ways.” 

But when the good Beauvillians had departed for the night to 
their hotel, most reluctant to leave, but most determined in their 
purpose not to tease the good Lairds with their board and lodg- 
ing, she made Lotty sit on her knee, and looking into her sunny 
eyes, said, — 

“Bairn, what are ye made on! that they great men-folk love 
yer little finger like the breath of Heaven ? ” 

u I do not know, Mrs. Laird ; but they have always done so, 
and I love them.” 

“ I dinna wonder at it. Else may be I wad preach ye a ser- 
mon this night, having such bonny, bright, griefless eyes, and 
yer husband no in his grave ten days.” 

u Dear ma’am, Philip would marry me, and would not wait 
for me to love my people less, and him more ; and that made us 
unhappy, because, ma’am, ah ! because — they are so good, so 
true, so kind ” 

“ Ech ! sirs, they’re past everything ; dinna ye gang now to 
be flecched up ; ayes me, but what am I saying ; fleeched up, 
•indeed, blessings on the bairn ! I’m thinking yer just a bit 
angel slipt away from Heaven, and given to them fine, heart- 


AND TIER BRTDE8MATPS, 


245 


some folk, as a present for their kindly natures. But me, how 
they shak bonds ; save us ! I’ll never recover it. But I see it 
all the noo. Nae wonder wi’ such folk ye could na love dark, 
gloomy Philip Leigh, wi’ a’ his grand luiks. My word, when 
you and they were allthegither in my best parlor, I thought the 
gracious sun had aye come in at the winder and lighted us all up. 
Ech ! lassie, the sight o’ such folk does ane gude, and the doc- 
tor’s maist demented wi’ gladness and pride. Little did we twa 
think, as we said ye suld hae our blue room, what a treat was 
in store for us. Whiles I feel out o’ myself, and whiles I feel 
just like a drunken body ; but, O, bairn ! we mauna forget the 
puir lad in his cauld grave.” 

***** 

That the loving Beauvillians had, for some time, fancied their 
little Lotty’s marriage was concluded with rather more haste 
than prudence, could not be denied. 

In the first place, unlike themselves, Philip was never glad to 
see them, never asked them to stay with him. 

In the second place, he never came to see them, or brought 
their and his Lotty to show with pride and pleasure to all her 
doting relatives. 

In the third place, he had carried off this treasure, so beloved, 
without warning, without leave. Certainly they had no right 
to expect he would consult them ; but it had grated sore in their 
loving hearts that such an important matter should be done, 
settled, executed, and not one of them consulted, not one al- 
lowed to bid her farewell, not even her faithful nurse suffered 
to accompany her. 

It required all the milk of human kindness, so overflowing in 
the Beauvillian hearts, to prevent them from thinking of Philip 
Leigh in a way that was quite uncomfortable to their jovial 
natures. And nothing but her constant and happy letters pre- 
vented the milk from turning sour, and overwhelming Philip 
Leigh with the curds. Not that they had wholly left their 
darling Lotty to the care of one, about whom they were quite 
unhappy not to think as highly of as they did of the rest of the 
world. For, unknown to her or Philip, a faithful Beauvillian 
had travelled after them, and, contenting himself with seeing that 
she looked well and happy, had returned again with the news to 
his anxious brethren. 

It was contrary to their open, frank natures to ask any 
questions, or to appear to pry into things that were not brought 
under their immediate eyes, so that they felt but little more than 


246 


MARGARET 


a vague notion, tlicir Lotty had better be under the care of tne 
smallest, most insignificant Beauvillian, than wedded to the 
handsome, distinguished-looking Philip Leigh. 

Now, they were so happy to have her once more their own, 
it was enough for them. 

Philip might have been unkind, morose, dull, but he was dead. 
The grave was sacred to them, and whatever feeling they might 
have had, Avas only expressed by the pen^ersity Avith Avhich they 
one and all seemed to think she Avas still Miss Beauvilliers. 
And Avhen convicted of their mistake by the servant saying no 
such person had any boxes there, no one A\ r as in the house of 
that name, they only said in excuse, “ Ah ! we mean Lotty.” 

While making preparations for her return home, which was 
to be immediate, both on account of their anxiety to restore her 
at once to her people, and because of some little domestic event 
about to happen in Mr. Frank’s family — Lotty heard all the 
neAvs of everybody. 

“ My dearest Georgina insisted upon my coming, though I 
felt that even you, dear Lotty, Avould have forgiven me, had I 
so far restrained my impatient feelings on account of Georgina’s 
interesting situation. But when we received your letter, when 
Ave felt that you must be brought home, brought home properly ; 
though at first there Avere far too many of us who had settled to 
Come, my dearest Georgina said, ‘ You must be one of those 
chosen, you must go to our darling Lotty ; for if you don’t, you 
shall not have the girl you Avish for.’ Think of my dear Georgina 
saying that ! she did, indeed ; and I thanked her from my heart. 
And Avhether she gh'es me a girl or not, I shall be grateful to 
Georgina all my life for permitting me to be one of the favored, 
happy feAv to escort you home, dear Lotty.” 

The Beauvillians created quite a sensation in Homberg. They 
visited Lotty’s old lodgings, and left substantial marks of their 
having been there, to the inhabitants thereof. They Avent to see 
the good old Bonne, and besides giving her such a donation that 
she had never before beheld so much money at one time, they 
emptied a shop of its bonbons, and distributed them among the 
children under her charge, who had contributed, though in so 
small a degree, to their Lotty’s happiness. But they thereby 
endangered their lives for Aveeks to come, except that children’s 
stomachs are, through some Avise proAusion, made to contain an 
incredible amount of sugar-plums. 

As for the good Lairds, it seemed to them that some genial 
spirit had taken entire and full possession of their house, while 


AM> HBK BRIDESiVf A IDH. 


24 * 

the beaming presence of the tine fellows remained there. Aud 
the gratitude they expressed ! Besides perpetual shaking of 
hands (indeed, if he had only been encouraged, Air. Frank 
looked as if he could gladly salute the chaste but withered cheek 
of Mrs. Laird) , the whole set of Beauvillians, in full conclave, 
presented Mr. and Mrs. Laird with a very handsome present in 
money to indemnify them for all the trouble and anxiety they 
must have had with their Lotty. 

Not that they believed she was a trouble or anxiety, or that 
Mr. and Mrs. Laird were so foolish as to think they did do so ; 
but it was just their way, to remove any idea of gratitude. 

And, as if that was not enough, each Beauvillian, in secret and 
privately, presented Mrs. Laird with a present of their own, just 
as if that one, individually, was more indebted to her kindness 
than all the others. 

And when she would have expostulated as she received the 
third secret present, and openly said how she had received two 
besides, she was not even listened to. 

“Of course, of course — very right! I knew my kinsmen 
would not forget such a duty ; and you must be kind enough to 
keep our presents as a remembrance of us.” 

As if she was ever likely to forget them ! And so all things 
being ready, after a leave-taking that was enough to shake the 
nerves of the winged Nineveh bull, if it had any, Mrs. Laird 
found herself sitting in the middle of her parlor floor, drowned 
in tears, and Mr. Laird endangering his limbs and his life, by 
stretching so far out of the window to take a last look,. wave a 
last adieu. 

But they had not departed without leaving a token of respect, 
at least, to the memory of the mistaken, self-sacrificed Philip 
Leigh. 

Lotty’s last act was to put a packet into Mrs. Laird’s hand, 
saying, “ You will see a proper monument put up, and every- 
thing done just as if he were your ; bairn.’ ” 


CHAPTER LIX. 

Loving and lovely Margaret, with your shadowy form, your 
ethereal face, your gentle, calm submission, your pure faith, 
your pious patience, let us return to you. 


MAROARCT 


Basil had found the sea strewn with light floating articles 
belonging to the “Marguerite/’ too surely indicating her fate, 
and selecting from these one or two well-known articles, had 
placed them, as we have seeiff in that* abrupt manner before 
Lady Katherine. 

There might seem a degree of cruelty in this act, especially as 
Margaret, all unknowing tb him, had witnessed the scene. But 
they had rightly judged her. character ; pity and sorrow for the 
poor mother made her lock up in her innermost heart the grief 
and loneliness she was to carry to her grave. She felt that they 
had meant to shock the mother’s feelings for a peculiar purpose, 
divined the cause. 

No tiKUL'inur escaped her lips, no duty was left undone. True 
to her unselfish nature, she urged Gerald with fervor to remove 
Millicent at once to a warmer climate. Her delicate frame 
seemed to suffer for those she loved, even inor^ ipparently than 
the mourners themselves. Yet, notwithstanding all this, they 
saw Margaret growing thinner and paler every day, presenting" 
the appearance of a living, moving body, but the soul was Far 
away. To Basil it seemed as iff in her eyes there always dwelt 
the scene of the heaving, restless sea, bearing within its bosom 
that beloved form. 

“She will die, if we cannot do something to change her 
thoughts and feelings. If Lotty vtere but here now ! ” 

“ It is strange/' said Millicent, “ she has never mentioned 
Lotty. I do not like to do so ; in fact, I dare scarcely speak ; 
it seems to me that but a cqbweb thread hqlds her life and 
reason.” U 



“ Yes, her sensitive nature suffers when all is calm ; unlike 
the violent outpourings of poor Lady Katherine, that fortunately 
weaken themselves by their very vehemence.” 

“ I am glad Mr. Grey is to ■'live in the house with Lady 
Katherine, she seems to have taken so great a fancy to him.” 

“ Yes, Milly, so now you and Gerald may leave with comfort ; 
and the sooner you go, remember, the more you please Marga- 
ret. I should like when I see her to-day to say you are gone.” 

“ Do so, Basil ; for it was but the pain of leave-taking that 
has made us linger. We are all ready, and only last night 
agreed it would be best to depart in secrecy.” 

“ Much better. None of our nerves at present can stand much 
more strain on them. I will spend an hour or two with Mar- 
garet, and will then follow you to Liverpool. She will be inter- 
ested to hear the last news of you.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


249 


It was thus they cared for and thought of their poor stricken 
Margaret. 

When Basil joined them at Liverpool, he told Millicent that 
Margaret seemed relieved by knowing they were gone, and, 
taking advantage of the moment, he had spoken to her of Lotty. 

A slight flush rose on the white cheek, the eyes lost that ever- 
searching, mournful look, but all she said was, “ My Lotty will 
come to me when she can.” 

“ Thus, Milly, we can hope for no particular change just yet. 
When the little, bright, cheerful spirit joins her Margaret, we may 
expect some good, for she always seemed to divine what her 
school,- wife, most loved.” 

“ Y6u will write to Lotty, Basil?” 

“ I hardly think so ; she has enough to bear without. Now, 
Milly, farbwell ; I need scarcely say to you that you have no 
easy task befpre you, for Gerald bears within his breast a bruised 
and cjntriteCheart.” 

u You are right, brother. Until he meets Harold face to face 
before the judgmfentdhrone of Gdd, he will never cease, while 
breath is given him, toSmplore mercy and pardon for the share 
he thinks he %$s had in Harold’s fate.” 

So Margarets' mother came^bo live with her, and the bleak 
December passed away, bringing in a stormy, violent January. 

She had been to her nursery to watch her fine boy enjoy his 
dinner ; she had looked into the cot that contained a rosy, sleep- 
ing babe, whose red lip was never to be pressed by a father’s 
kiss ; she had seen her steward, and transacted all her business 
with him ; she had read to her mother the psalms and lessons of 
the day ; aud with the same dreamy air, and quiet, listless man- 
ner, she called for her bonnet and shawl to take her daily walk. 

“ The sleet drives in great gusts,” remonstrated the nurse ; 
“ you will take cold, my lady.” 

“ I cannot take cold,” answered her lady, mechanically. 

“ The gardener says there will be soon a heavy fall of snow, 
my lady.” 

“Does he?” answered Margaret, still as in a dream, while 
she put on her bonnet. “ Do not take the children out, theft.” 

And she went. 

“ One would suppose she never heeded what I was saying,” 
murmured the nurse ; “ and yet she must have done so to have 
remembered the children. The Lord touch her heart with life 
again, for it is sore to see her thus ! ” 

Margaret went to Rose Leigh, her daily custom. Lady 


250 


MARGARET 


Katherine, as usual, received . her as if they had not met for 
years, installed her in her own chair, and hovered about her as 
a loving lien guards the one nestling left her. Pru. was in an 
excited state to-day, and had a great deal lo tell Margaret. In 
fact, ever since the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Herbert, and the 
arrival of Mr. Grey, Pru. had been growing more and more 
enigmatical in her conduct. And had Margaret ever heard the. 
episode of the curate, absorbed as she was, she must have no- 
ticed Pru.’s manner. 

44 I have heard from dear Georgina,” said Pru. 44 Frank has 
left her for a short time.” 

44 Indeed,” answered Margaret. 

44 Mr. Grey is so much liked among the people, my dear 
daughter,” said Lady Katherine. 

44 Ah ! ” answered Margaret, •'unheeding Pru.’s violent blush. 

‘‘ There are snow drops appearing already, dear Margaret, 
cold as the weather is.” 

‘ 4 Is it cold?” said Margaret. 

“ Mr. Grey said it was bitterly cold,” continued Lady Kath- 
erine, 44 and he is the best judge of weather 1 know.” 

Again Pru. flushed and grew pale. 

44 Shall I walk back with you, dear Margaret? ” 

“ If you please,” was her quiet answer. 

During this walk, which lasted much longer than from Rose 
Leigh to Court Leigh, Pru.’s excitement broke out into one 
incessant chatter, in which a certain pronoun, he, was mixed up 
with everything on which she discoursed, and which on less un- 
heeding ears would have divulged poor Pru.’s secret. Once only 
did Margaret show interest. 

“ It was Lotty’s doing, all dear, darling Lotty’s plan,” said 
Pru. 

44 What plan?” asked Margaret. 

44 Why,” answered Pru., blushing vehemently, at being asked 
a question she did not expect, 44 that he came.” 

‘ 4 My Lotty came? ” asked Margaret, in perplexity. 

44 No, no, though I wish in my heart she had, then all would 
go right ; but it snows hard now, dear Margaret, so I will run 
home, as you must go in.” 

Margaret did not go in, she liked the wild weather ; it brought 
a pulse of life in her heart to watch the / wintry elements. They 
seemed typical of her own withered hopes. 

44 Lotty,” she said to herself, unconsciously, 44 my Lotty ! I 
wish she would come. It seems to me, her presence would 


AND HER BRIDESMAID*. 


26 1 

prove to me like the first snowdrop of spring, seen in this win- 
try weather. Ah ! Lotty, if you were here, perhaps you could 
devise some means by which I could visit that spot, behold with 
my own eyes if the sea can give me up no message from her 
dead. If I could, have something ; even in the hour of utmost 
danger, he would have written to his Margaret, he would have 
sent me some last directions safely enclosed within some floating 
casket. I know, I feel sure there is such, and if Lotty were 
here ” 

u She is here, Queen Margaret, these are her arms round you, 
her kisses pouring on you — but stay — say nothing, speak not 
to her, for there is your treasure, your message from the dead. 
Your Lotty would have been here before, but that she knew 
what her Margaret wanted. She went, she sought, she has 
found it. Take it, sweetest, dearest mourner ! Basil was the 
real discoverer, your Lotty only the diviner ; now, here, in the 
little summer-house, you will be alone, un watched, unseen. 
God bless my Margaret ! ” 

And Lotty, placing in Margaret’s trembling hands an oil-skin 
packet, directed to her, kissed her cheek with passionate fond- 
ness, and left her alone. 

First Lotty went to the nursery, and kissing young Harold, 
took her little goddaughter in her arms, and said, “ This is my 
child, nurse.” 

ki God be praised for it, ma’am ! and, more than all, that you 
have come back. We have looked for no change in our dear 
lady until you could arrive.” 

u God lias been very good in giving me the power to bring 
her a last token of remembrance from her husband.” 

u Heaven be praised ! ’twas all she wanted.” And the tears 
fell in showers from the good nurse’s eyes. 

Lotty now went across, spite of the driving snow, to Rose 
Leigh. She peeped in at the window, and saw Lady Katherine, 
with her feet and nose comfortably near the fire, knotting aAvay 
with an indefatigable perseverance worthy a great cause. On 
the other side of the fire, equally comfortable, sat a gentleman ! 
The sound of his strong, sonorous voice came through the win- 
dow ; he was reading aloud. Rather behind her mother sat 
Pru., who ought to have been knotting; “ but O ! ” as Lotty 
upbraided her afterwards, “ her knotting was on the floor, and 
she was gazing, unabashed, on the face of a young man, not 
more than forty years of age.” 

Lotty went quietly into the room, but Pru. was not so ab- 
sorbed in her occupation as to forget old friends. 


znz 


MARGARET 


“ Dearest, dear Lotty ! you have returned to us at last ; ” and 
the knotting became inextricably entangled in the legs of two 
chairs, as Pru. sprung nimbly round them, to embrace her. 

With touching, childlike feeling, Lady Katherine looked at 
the little girlish thing, and said, “ My dear, don’t kiss me, do 
not be kind to me, for I am a very unworthy, wicked woman ! 
I love to see your sweet face again ; we have been longing for 
you, but I have widowed your Margaret ; I, I have broken her 
heart. 0, my son, my son, my only son ! ” 

“ But I will kiss my Margaret’s mother thus and thus, and I 
love Harold’s mother as if she were my own, and I bring her 
the greatest comfort she can now have, a last fond letter from 
her son, full of love and forgiveness, I know.” 

“ Where? — O, where? — let me see the blessed words ! ” 

“ Margaret has the letters ; we must leave her alone with her 
treasure as yet.” 

“ O, Lotty ! how did you get them? ” asked Pru. 

“ Basil has written to me constantly all the news from here, 
and all he knew of that fatal night, lie felt that some of these 
days Margaret might like to know every particular ; then I 
should be able to tell her, or to show her the letters. He has 
collected every paper, every account, every circumstance that 
occurred to our Harold from the time he left home, until that 
fatal Thursday night. From that time he has given me a his- 
tory of his own voyage, when Gerald accompanied him. Again of 
a second one, when he discovered the fatal truth, and found those 
tew sad remains ; and among other things that he has collected, 
is the ligure-head of the ‘ Marguerite.’ The instant I knew this, 
I called to mind several things that I had heard poor Harold 
say of this figure-head. How he had had infinite pains taken 
with it, so that it should resemble Margaret in attitude and face. 
How he should consider it a.s his guardian angel, and that it 
might indeed prove so to him, for it was constructed in a pecu- 
liar manner. Further, I remember in particular, he said, — 
* The image of my Margaret shall never be destroyed or wrecked. 
It shall float, through all the rest of the vessel is riven in pieces ; ’ 
so on my road home, we appointed Basil to meet us at Cowes, 
and there, in the ‘ Ripple,’ Avas laid all that remained of the ill- 
fated 1 Marguerite.’ ” 

“ Proceed, dear, dear Lotty ; O, finish your tale ! ” 

The heroic little Lotty was stifling her tears. 

“The figure-head of the ship was so like my Margaret; her 
small, graceful head just turned and bent, as if in the act of lis' 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


253 


tening ; the slight hands touching, half laced together by the 
fingers, her own peculiar attitude, as you know. But Basil won- 
dered why I examined it so minutely. 

“ * See, Basil,’ I said, ‘it has not been separated from the ship 
by violence or blows. It has been carefully unscrewed and sent 
adrift.’ 

“ ‘ You are right, Lotty,’ he answered, ‘ and these hollow 
tubes must have gone through the beams. The screws must 
have penetrated to the cabin, or been fastened from there.’ 

“ ‘And unfastened again. Let us sound it, it is almost hollow 
within.’ ” 

“ Suffice it to say, we found a spring, which opened to us the 
hollow cavity, that, filled with air, caused the figure-head to float 
so buoyantly when all heavier things were swallowed up in 
those shifting sands. And within was also Harold’s last mes- 
sage to Margaret. I have brought it and given it to her.” 

“ Ah, Lotty ! best Lotty, you are well-named, but my son ~can 
send nothing but upbraidings to his mother. Nevertheless I 
will meekly receive them ; if my poor, dear, widowed Margaret 
forgives me, and has fond messages to her from his watery 
grave, I shall be very grateful to a merciful God. It will be 
quite as much as I deserve.” 

“ God afflicts none more than they are able to bear, dear Lady 
Katherine,” said Mr. Grey. 

“I feel that; nay, I know it. What ought I not to suffer? 
yet how am I blessed ! ” 

“ I am very glad to find Mr. Grey is living with you,” said Lotty. 

“Under God’s blessing, he has saved my soul, dear Lotty! 
from very sinful murmurings and despair. I was almost lost in 
every way, for my Margaret was too good to me.” 

“ He is very good and kind to us both,” murmured Pru., 
blushing violently. - 

“ I am very glad to hear he is kind to you,” whispered Lotty 
back again. 

With all her tender heart and melting sorrow, some things 
bewitched little Lotty into being mischievous. 

“When shall I see my Margaret ?” began Lady Katherine, 
with nervous tremor. 

“ We must not disturb her,” answered Lotty ; “ when she is 
calm, she will join us. If she has comfort to bestow, so much 
the sooner will she come.” 

“ How well you know her character,” said Mr. Grey ; “ i* 
seems strange that one so faultless should be thus tried.” 


254 


MARGARET 


“ Pure gold is tried in the fire,” answered Lotty. 

“ Lotty,” said Lady Katherine, abruptly, “ where is Philip ? ” 
Tlie little childish thing looked up with amazement for a 
moment — then she glanced at her black dress. 

“ I thought I heard he was ill, dead,” continued Lady Kath- 
erine : “ but I am grown so selfish, so absorbed, you must for- 
give me, dear child. You have no white cap on your head like 
my Margaret ; your pretty curls are as usual ; I trust he may 
be spared to you, poor, little, young thing ! ” 

The color deepened in Lotty’s cheeks until they bloomed like 
winter roses. Then she said, — 

“ I have come home to be once more Margaret’s little school- 
husband, for we are both alone now ; God has taken Philip 
Leigh to his rest.” 

In the little summer-house did the widowed Margaret read 
this letter, a message sent by the sea from -her dead. 

“Margaret! what is this I have to do? I have written to 
you before. Thank God! I wrote from Jersey; a letter — 
such a letter as I ought to write to my Margaret. And now 
but a few days are passed since that was penned and sent ; and 
in this scrawled, blotted, stained sheet of paper, you are to take 
my last message, the only letter you will ever receive from the 
Harold you loved so well, the last token of his love for you. 

“ 0 Fate ! Fate ! could you pour no other vial of wrath on mv 
devoted head? Was the measure of my sins so great, that J 
was to bear for three days (each a lifetime) alternate hope and 
despair ; gleams of strength and resignation ; hours of horror 
and remorse ; every feeling that can lacerate the human heart, 
yet bid it hope against hope ; was I to bear all this with a man’s 
weak spirit, only to learn that death is about to part me and 
thee, Margaret? One man on board — but one — announces 
that nothing can save us. But he is the only experienced sailor 
we have, and my reason bids me feel and know that his words 
are true. I see the drift of the under-current, ignorant sailor as 
I am. I watch the light articles tossed over ; they all float one 
way, to a doom that is inevitable. Let me collect my thoughts, 
let me strive to take leave of my Margaret as befits her husband. 
An irresistible impulse bids me write ; all these three days it 
has urged me like the sharp prick of conscience. I obey ; inco- 
herent, hasty, desponding and despairing as my words may be, I 
write to Margaret, my wife, my fond, loving wife ! O God ! 
wilt thou not hear my prayer? Let me see her again, for her 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


255 


own sweet sake, not mine. One word, one look, ’tis all I ask. 
A slight preparation ! she can have none ; it is impossible : naked, 
plain, in all its stern truth, the fact will be told her, as in a 
breath, 4 Your Harold is dead, drowned — drowned in the very 
vessel he made your rival ! ’ How she will feel for me ! how 
sue will gasp and say, 4 In any other way, O God ! I could have 
borne it better ; but not from his own wilfulness, not his own 
headstrong will.’ 

44 But, Margaret, I can comfort you there. ’Tis true, my 
mother’s letter drove me away. I expected an answer from 
you to that I wrote from Jersey — (I love to think upon that 
letter, it was a fitting one for you) — and I received hers ; only 
that one from my mother, and a message from you in it. A 
newspaper, too, with that lie ! those lies ! Did you believe 
them? O, no! no! mad, fierce, wild as was my passion, in 
the midst of all it drove me to do, one small voice would repeat, 
4 Margaret loves you ! Margaret trusts you ! why care for 
others ? ’ 

44 But I must needs get away into the wide, open sea, out of 
sight of land ; that land, which held so true and fond a wife and 
mother ! So I gave the order, and when we were many hours 
away, I went on deck to breathe and think. The wind blew in 
fitful gusts — it cooled my brain. Suddenly, a sweeping, soft 
air came rushing by, as if stirred by angels’ wings, and a voice 
seemed to speak to my heart, — 

44 ‘ Remember Margaret’s state. Think of her tender, sensi- 
tive nature. The word that attainted her Harold’s name would 
be as a sword entering her heart.’ 

44 And so, Margaret, as if the touch of the Saviour had driven 
the demon from his hold, and the holy words had dismissed and 
rebuked him, did I become calm and in my right mind. I gave 
the order to return at once, and went down to my cabin and 
thanked God. I then saw it all. My mother so angry ; my 
Margaret so hurt with her ; perhaps she had, all unfit as she 
was, travelled to Cowes, to meet and console, and love more 
fondly than ever, her wayward, but not wicked, Harold — her 
traduced, foully-slandered Harold. But a fear crept in silently, 
fixedly, the shock might have been too much. My Margaret is 
so very tender, so sensitive for her Harold. Perhaps she hud 
gone already to heaven, taking with her a little, blighted blos- 
som. Perhaps those two stars were her seraph eyes, beaming 
down on me, and bidding me prepare. Those stars I saw but 
three nights ago. If so, Death, I welcome thee, hideous as thou 


256 


MARGARET 


hast presented thyself. I am calmer. I was going to comfort 
you ; perhaps there is no need for me to do so ; but my mother 
— poor mother ! she meant nothing, I know. If I had reached 
home Avithin an hour after sending that letter, I should still 
have been her dear son. So I wish it known to all, that not on 
me rests the sin of hurrying all these unprepared souls to tlieir 
last account. 

“I said I gave the order for the ship to return, and went 
down to my cabin. My company were not congenial to my 
present thoughts, and I remained for many hours ; until I 
thought we might see lights on the island. 

44 All was wild, dark, stormy ; a desert of sea and waves. 

44 4 When shall we reach Cowes ? * I asked of the helmsman. 

44 4 Cowes ! we had a second order from you, through one of 
the young ladies, to keep our course for Holland.’ 

44 So, Margaret, they did it. Let them weep and wail. Let 
them upbraid and weary Heaven with their cries ; on their own 
shoulders rests their doom. 

44 They thought I was actuated by whim, in going out to 
sea ; they had a whim not to return. Thus are we lost through 
folly. 

44 And Mr. Clare ; to him we owe it that we have so poor 
a crew, a captain utterly weak and incapable, ignorant even to 
my own extent of nautical matters. But one man on board 
knows these fatal sands. A greater man than I am once es- 
caped them. Why should not we ? I must hope. God never 
gave me such a gift as Margaret — to tear me from her thus. 
And yet I valued her not. 0 God ! if I see her once again — 
if I hold her once more in these arms, second to thee only shall 
she be ! She will teach me to worship and praise thee. Poor 
Gerald ! Tell him the promise has come true — 4 He has cast 
his bread upon the waters, it will not return to him void.’ I 
remember scoffing at his text — 4 Make Thou Thy servant to 
delight in that which is good.’ But useless for me is that prayer 
now , though it haunts me. But a few hours more, the old 

seaman says The ship drives heavily. Margaret, I would 

not that you should think these blurred, unsteady lines are other 
than accidental. Your Harold is calm. Hope may be depart- 
ing, but God is at the helm. I think again of Gerald, and say, 
4 Father, I have sinned against heaven .and before thee, and 
am no more worthy to be called thy son ; ’ but forgive me ! O, 
forgive me ! 

44 Thus do I pray, at every moment that I do not pray for thee* 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


257 


“ I have been on deck. In a vain hope to aid us, for want 
of coal, we have burned , every available thing within the ship. 
Doors, partitions, all are gone. We group together, for we 
cannot separate. None can go hide their grief and despair ; 
nakedly shown before us all are the different phases of woe in 
all their human weakness. 

“ My companions gaze on me, preparing these papers — my 
will — for you, fond wife. They derive comfort from my calm- 
ness, thinking the wild scene above is but a hideous drama, in 
which they take no part. Poor Miss Clare ! Poor Augusta ! — 
she beseeches me to save her ; and calls upon you, my Mar- 
garet, to hear her vows and promises. Never more will she 
give you one moment’s uneasiness — never more will she see or 
speak to me again. I believe her there ; but I smile in pity at 
her words. My Margaret knew all her Harold’s sins and weak- 
nesses ; I thank God I have nothing to confess. She upbraids 
me as the cause of their impending doom ; again I thank God, 
and so must you, Margaret ; not only is my soul free (for even 
her companions chide her for her words) from this charge, but 
He who sees into all hearts knows I would freely give my life 
for hers, so unfit is she to die, while I rest in the hope of the 
thief on the cross. 

“My boy! Make him the Harold I ought to have been. 
With his mother near him, I know his father’s name will be 
green in his memory evermore. 

u If God has given you a fatherless child, Margaret, take it 
into your innermost heart, as your Harold’s last gift. 

“ You have much to do, fond, loving wife — loving, idolized, 
adored Margaret — my estates to redeem, my people to reform, 
my name to clear, until it is second to none in honor and truth. 
Margaret will do this ere I see her again. God help and sup- 
port me ! These people moan, and shriek, and cry, but who 
among them has to leave a Margaret? 

“ Again I have staggered on deck. A little sloop rides on 
every crested wave two miles astern. I fear for her ; but the 
old mate says she can float in safety where we cannot go. I 
feel strangely interested in her ; she is the last earthly thing on 
which my eyes will rest ; she will, most probably, witness our 
fate. Evening closes, but we will burn blue lights. Haply, 
when she sees them suddenly extinguished and hears the wild 
cry of drowning agony, some pious heart on board will say, 
c God have mercy on their souls ! ’ 

“ l told you, in my letter from Jersey, of a youug girl who 


258 


MARGARET 


was of our company, a cousin of Miss Clare’s, a little, delicate, 
fair thing. On our first danger she grew pale and white ; but 
during this lifetime of alternate hope and despondency (which 
has made your Harold’s hair turn thus, Margaret — see, I have 
cut off your favorite lock — by the white hairs so suddenly 
strewn in it, think, wife, how your Harold mourns for you, 
bereft and lonely) — during this time, I say, that young girl has 
uttered no cry, has made no moan. She followed me every- 
where with her large, sad eyes and wistful face ; and, as if in 
answer to my questioning look, whether I could do aught for 
her, said, — 4 Pray, let me stay near you ; it does me good, and 
strengthens^me to see you.’ 

44 For very sad, my Margaret, is it to see the others ; those 
who ought to be their nearest and dearest comforters have 
blindly drowned their sense of danger in wine. ’Tis a pitiable 
sight. I know you will be glad to think I had a little gentle 
spirit near me, to whom I could do some good. I have written, 
at her dictation, a letter to her sister, the only near relation she 
has in the world, and whom she disobeyed, coming on this ill- 
fated voyage — -that is, she came against her sister’s wishes, who 
is much older than herself, and who does not love the Clares. 
The innocent child thinks her dreadful death a proper judgment 
ou her. She says her sister is poor, and was made still more 
so by her efforts to afford every pleasure and good she was 
able to this little sister. 

u 4 Now,’ she says, 4 she will be free from me, and need go 
out to teach no more ; but she will sadly mourn and weep for 
me, and who will comfort her?’ 

1,4 4 My Margaret will,’ I answered. 

44 4 Then I have no other care,’ she said. 4 If I may hold 
your hand, as we go down, I will neither shriek nor cry, sir, or 
struggle. God will be good to me, and take my soul at the first 
rush of the water ! ’ 

44 So now the hour comes. A shock sends a trembling thrill, 
as if of life, through every timber of 4 the Marguerite.’ Loud 
and shrill rise those shrieks of agony and despair ! Poor 
Augusta ! unhappy creature ! she knows not what she says so 
wildly. Her sister-in-law falls fainting back : that young, quiet 
child kneels by my side and prays ! 

44 Comfort my poor mother. 

44 And now to put up this packet. Margaret, my fond, sweet, 
loving Margaret ! your Lot tv will bring you these words — your 
best Lotty. I remember telling her mv plan that the guardian 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


259 


angel of my ship should float, did all else perish. She knows 
you will not live without your Harold’s adieu. So, take it 
— take my last fond blessing, and, with it, acknowledge that, 
however dreadful my fate, however hard my doom, yet can I 
bear it all ; for, through the mercy of my God and Saviour, I 
hope to meet my wife in heaven ! ” 

***** 

None may lift the veil that shrouds such mourners, for tha 
weak language of man is unfitted to describe their grief. 

It was the fourteenth of February. Lotty had met Basil in 
the cedar walk, to give him the daily account of Margaret. 

“ Will she ever recover, Lotty ? ” asked he mournfully. 

“ Yes ; Harold bid her live ; she will do it.” 

“ It is your birth-day, Lotty,” said he. 

“Yes. I wish I was dead ! ” 

“Nay, Lotty, what could we do without you? Margaret 
would have died but for you.” 

“ Have you settled all about that old Miss Clare?” 

“ Yes ; she is now at the Rectory, and seems well fitted to 
take charge of it until my sister comes home.” 

“And how does she seem?” 

“ Why, Lotty, she appears to have been very fond of that 
little sister, and ” 

“ Refuses to be comforted, of course ; mourns like us all.” 

“ But she is a good woman, Lotty, and says she will make no 
unworthy moan, for God has comforted her, only the shock was 
great.” 

“ I suppose I must go and see her.” 

“ Yes, Lotty, and read the little sister’s letter ; but not 
to-day, for you have a birth-day sad enough already.” 

“ I wish to have no more ; this world is too sorrowful and bad 
to live in.” 

“ Do not quit it yet a while, Lotty ; we have much for you to 
do ; besides, Bear would die of grief — to say nothing of others.” 

“ I’ll bequeath Bear to you, but now I must return to Mar- 
garet.” 

“ First tell me, Lotty, does she take an interest in any- 
thing? ” 

“ Yes, she reads Harold’s letters all day, and looks at and 
touches that half black, half white, curl.” 

“ Does she speak to you, Lotty? ” 

“ Yes, she says drowning cries pierce her ears, and she sees 
stormy waves and drowning people when she shuts her eyes.” 


260 


MARGARET 


44 Ah, don’t, Lotty ; you harrow my very heartstrings.” 

44 Then don’t ask foolish questions.” 

44 Nay, just a few more. Does she see her children?” 

“ Yes, she weeps over them, until I have to send them 
away.” 

1,4 Does she think of you, Lotty, and love you as ever?” 

44 Yes, when she reads Harold’s letter.” 

44 Does she talk much of him, and mention his name ? ” 

44 She speaks of nothing else, and says no other name.” 

44 How long is this to last, Lotty?” 

44 Just as long as she chooses, so good-by.” 

The next day Lotty came springing to meet Basil, with a step 
that showed her heart was lighter. 

44 Do you know, Basil, she remembered it was my birth-day, 
and thought it so sad I should be but eighteen, yet a widow ; — 
as if she were much older.. And she called to mind, of her own 
accord, how my father used to send the cart into Bath, laden 
with good things, and presents for the whole school, on my 
birth-day, and she smiled ; it was her first smile, but so sad, so 
wan ” 

44 Do not weep, Lotty ! you see you are to be her best earthly 
comforter, yet.” 

44 And, Basil, she asked about Miss Rachael Clare, and said, 
you always fixed upon the right thing for everybody.” 

44 And what more did she say ? ” 

44 Why, she said, that is, she feared she had been very 
selfish ” 

44 How, Lotty? ” 

44 About me?” 

44 1 do not understand ; pray explain.” 

44 1 have nothing to explain, Basil ; only she seemed to 
remember I ought to be in grief, or I was in grief, and that she 
ought to comfort me, and all that.” 

Basil tried to catch a glimpse of Lotty’s face, but failed. 

44 You know, Lotty, you did wrong to marry.” 

44 No one suffered but myself.” 

44 Dearest Lotty ! who could have had the heart to give you 
pain ? ” 

44 1 only pained myself.” 

44 But poor Philip’s greatest fault ” 

44 Was loving me too much,” interrupted Lotty, quickly. 

44 1 do not wonder at it,” exclaimed Basil, abruptly. Then 
recovering himself, he raised her hand to his lips, with the air 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 261 

->2 n courtier saluting his rightful queen, saying, low and soft, 
“ True, loyal wife.” 

Lotty received the truth and the compliment with a very 
sedate air, as if it were nothing to her what Basil thought or 
said. 

“ Now when do you intend to go to your own home?” she 
asked. 

“Are you tired of me?” he answered. 

“Not at all ; only, as time alone can now help Margaret, it is 
useless your moping about here, when, perhaps, you are much 
wanted at home. I feel sure Hugh and Brian wish we all had 
been drowned together ; and so do I, for the matter of that.” 

“ If you think I can be of no further good, I will gladly 
return home ; for though my boys have no such base thoughts as 
you mention, especially as regards yourself, they really do 
require me.” 

“ Then, good-by.” 

“ Nay, be not so impatient to be rid of* me — you will write 
to me?” 

“ Yes, once a week.” 

“ Then I shall come down between each letter, to inquire 
after you all.” 

“ I will write twice a week, then.” 

“ I presume I must be content with that : and if you want 
me ” 

“ I’ll telegraph, or send Bear.” 

“ Very good : you will write the first letter to-morrow?” 

“ No, the day after.” 

“ You will think of me, Lotty, far away from you all? ” 

“ Yes, as very happy with your brothers.” 

“As very unhappy, until I see you again.” 

“ Time will mend that, as you must not come for six 
months.” 

“ Luckily I shall be wanted in less than three. I ana little 
Harold’s guardian.” 

“ Then I will amuse myself by spoiling him to give you some 
trouble.” 

“ Good-by, Lotty ! do what you please, I am of Brian and 
Hugh’s opinion, you cannot do wrong.” 

“ Good-by, Basil ; Heaven send you better judgment. Shake 
hands, Bear, like a gentleman, for Basil is going away.” 

The day after Basil reached home, he received a letter from 
Lotty, as follows ; — 


262 


MARGARET 


“ I am obliged to write to you, Basil, because Margaret 
wishes it ; she says she would like to have seen you before you 
went, but I know better, so do not grieve about that. A little 
more strain on her nerves, and they would break, and you are 
so foolishly tender-hearted, you would never bear up as I do. 

“ I am also to tell you, she wants her image, that guardian 
angel of the ‘Marguerite,’ you know. We left it in the 
‘ Ripple ; ’ we might have known she would wish to have it, 
without troubling her to ask for it. Also, you are to find out if 
ever the drowned are washed up off those sands ; and further, 
every particular about the storm — how many vessels were lost, 
and how many souls went down. And please to collect all that 
the newspapers said. You know we have carefully kept the 
sight of them from her, and she bids me ask you to keep them 
all, — for the time may come when she will take a melancholy 
pleasure in looking at them ; and for the sake of the children, no 
incident relative to their father ought to be lost. But pray 
answer this letter to her : it is better for us both. She can read 
your letter to herself, and as for me, my heart is not stone. The 
Beauvillians are good lovers, but indifferent mourners : they 
know not how to be unhappy. If they lose a friend or brother 
by death, they say, ‘ He was good and worthy ; he has gone 
home, where we shall soon follow.’ If misfortunes come upon 
one, the others flock round and say, ‘ Here, brother, take of ours ; 
we have enough, and to spare.’ If sickness and pain afflict any, 
‘ Ha ! ’ say they, ‘ in the next world we shall suffer nothing.’ • 

“ You must know, Basil, she has smiled again. It was at a 
letter from my cousin Frank. I would send it to you, but really 
his paternal felicities are not fit to be seen by any but very 
friendly eyes. The newspapers will tell you of his happiness. 
I am going to see Miss Rachel. The name of Clare gives me 
the shivers. Young Harold cried for something this morning; 
mindful of your responsibilities, I gave it to him. — Bear’s 
love. This letter is written by a disconsolate being, called 

Lotty.” 

Though Basil is not to see Mr. Frank’s letter, the reader 
shall have a peep at it for old acquaintance’ sake. 

“ My dearest Lotty : 

“ My beloved Georgina, with the fortitude only possessed 
by her sex, has made me the most delighted of men as well 
as the happiest father. You remember how kindly she in- 
sisted upon my coming for you, and threatened me with a cer- 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


26 ■» 


iain punishment if I did not accede to her wishes ; and now my 
darling Georgina has fulfilled her promise, made so sweetly to 
me, even better than she said she would, for at half-past three 
on Sunday morning (just before the propitious 14th of Feb- 
ruary) she made me the happy father of the sweetest little girl 
you ever saw, and within half an hour she presented me with 
another equally charming. 

“ You will allow, dear Lotty, that my feelings naturally would 
be very much overcome, and will therefore excuse a longer letter, 
and that I mix nothing of sorrow and sympathy in one announ- 
cing such an auspicious event. 

“ I will only further say, the beloved mother and sweet babes 
are doing charmingly, and just now my dearest Georgina whis- 
pered to me, one little daughter should be called Lotty, and I 
said, in answer, the other should be Georgina, for we had had 
our little dispute about the name ; most fortunately settled by 
the never-to-be-sufficiently-praised conduct of my dearest wife in 
presenting me with two lovely girls. 

“ Your most happy, overcome kinsman, 

“ Frank Beauvilliers.” 

“ Poor, dear Pro. ! ” said Margaret. 

“ The Beauvillians will be rampant,” answered Lotty. 


CHAPTER LX. 

There was something remarkably pleasing about Mr. Grey : 
without being handsome, there was a mixture of intellect, sense, 
and good humor in his countenance, that attracted attention, 
and warmed the heart towards him. His manner was uniformly 
lively and cheerful, yet never obtrusive ; m fact, he had the gift 
of always appearing at the right moment, and always saying the 
most appropriate word. 

Long ago, in younger days, when his kind heart was enthusi- 
astic as well as kind, he had felt a warm interest in the poor 
Miss Leighs. Like little, uncomplaining doves in a cage, they 
cooed through their dull, monotonous lives in as unobtrusive a 
manner as they could ; hemmed in by forms and ceremonies, 
they hardly knew that there was any other existence by which 
the many little tendernesses of their hearts could be occupied. 


264 


MARGARET 


Yet Mr. Grey had in the short period of their acquaintance dis- 
covered that both were well furnished with gentle, kind natures, 
only waiting to bud forth on fitting reason, and wanting nothing 
but opportunity to blossom into full fragrance. 

Miss Leigh, in particular, appeared to him so peculiarly fitted 
to render a sensible and affectionate man happy, that he had 
begun to question himself as to the propriety of seeking her 
society further, without any reasonable hope of gaining his 
wishes, when Lady Katherine put a sudden and peremptory 
finale to whatever incipient hopes had begun to bud. The blow 
was more heavy than Mr. Grey imagined ; and bidding adieu 
to love, he turned his quiet energies into other channels. 

As curate of a large and populous parish, he had but little 
time to think of Miss Leigh, and do his duty. As rector of a 
small living, he undertook to educate a number of half-brothers 
and sisters, and tied himself and his fortune down, for the ben- 
efit of their mother and them. 

The greatest excitement and indulgence that he ever allowed 
himself was the study of geology, mineralogy, and botany ; in all 
of which sciences he gained a proficiency. 

When he received Mr. Herbert’s offer, through the instrumen- 
tality of Mrs. Leigh, and found himself again in such immediate 
contact with the first object of his affections, he naturally con- 
cluded that the love of stones, flowers, and strata, which had 
held him in such, unbounded thrall for ten years, was much 
superior to the half pity, half love, he had for three short months 
felt for Miss Leigh ; so sure was he of this, that arriving in the 
very moment of their heavy calamity, he had, at Mr. Herbert’s 
request, fearlessly taken up his abode with Lady Katherine and 
the gentle Pru. 

We have seen that the latter, having had no rival, save Lotty, 
and nothing to divert her thoughts, was still faithful ; and, in- 
deed, she was not far wrong in thinking that the ten years had 
only passed over Mr. Grey’s head to improve him. He bore 
within him a contented, cheerful heart, a well-disciplined, active 
mind, moderate and easily pleased desires, with a strong per- 
vading principle of religion, that never slumbered or waxed 
faint ; with such a man time had no dealings, years passed over 
him as lightly as days on the indolent and unthankful. 

Pru. was not so fortunate ; good, sweet, and amiable as she 
was, some little secret corner of repining had touched her cheek 
with a few wrinkles, had somewhat angularized her form, and 
imparted a slight tendency to redness in her nose, But what- 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


265 


ever she might have lost in beauty, Mr. Grey soon began to dis- 
cover she had gained in amiability. 

Mineralogy, botany, and geology were certainly bewitching 
sciences. In their services he had almost forgotten the existence 
of Miss Leigh ; but when they came to be placed in actual con- 
tact with her feminine virtues, and he had to compare the de- 
lights of discovering a new flower, with her gentle endurance of 
her mother’s whims, or a curious fossil, while she, with gentle 
eyes, told him of some new patient requiring his tender, Chris- 
tian care ; then we are bound to confess Pru. rose high in the 
scale of his regard, while mineralogy, botany, and geology 
kicked the beam together. He came at a most fortunate mo- 
ment for Lady Katherine, who was only saved from insanity by 
hardly having sufficient sense to realize the horror of her work. 

But she was in that state that made her cling to any one who 
would relieve her from the dead weight of sorrow and remorse, 
— feelings she could hardly comprehend, yet which would make 
themselves felt. It was with the heart and spirit of a little, 
humble child that she threw herself into the pious hands of the 
kind, mercy-loving John Grey. 

So soothing were his efforts, so gentle his persuasive words, 
so pure his faith and piety, that under his care she grew calm, 
yet not forgetful ; happy, though always repentant ; apparently 
much like the Lady Katherine of old, yet essentially different. 

Meanwhile months went on ; May was beginning to deck the 
earth with her flowers, and render it fragrant by their sweet odors.' 

“ Lotty, love, I am told you are repairing and painting High 
Leigh. Do my mother and I tie your sweet spirit down too 
much with our dulness ? ” Thus spoke Margaret on that May 
morning. 

“ I should be dull away from you, and that you may believe. 
No, Bear and I are fixing up High Leigh for some friends of 
ours to live in ; they were very kind to us when we were lonely 
and sad in foreign lands ; and though we do not wish you to be 
ill, yet we hope that you will catch a little cold now and then, 
or the children have measles, that you may employ the valuable 
services of Mr. Laird.” 

“ Are those nice, kind people really coming, Lotty? ” 

“ Yes, Queen Meg, I am going to let them have High Leigh, 
because Mrs. Laird was so fond of poor Philip, and will like to 
live in his house, and we ought to have a medical man nearer to 
us than Dr. Murray, and he is glad of help besides ; so alto- 
gether we think it a fine arrangement.” 

23 


266 


MARGARET 


“ An arrangement very like you, my Lotty.” 

“ Bear and I, if you please. We settled it a month ago, be- 
cause, in the first place, we like living with you and Lady 
Montagu, and secondly, High Leigh does not agree with Bear’s 
health. He sutlers from neuralgia there, and nervous affections ; 
is it not so, old fellow?” ^ 

Bear whisked his great tail by way of assent, whereby a hide- 
ous, but most valuable piece of old Dragon china went smash on 
the floor, swept oil* by that ever-active member ; Lotty scolded, 
and Bear looked meek and penitent, so was kissed and forgiven. 

“ Bear and I have also another scheme in our heads, only we 
cannot do it without your help.” 

“Command it, best Lotty.” 

“We wish to make a matrimonial contract between John 
Grey and Charlotte Leigh.” 

“ Lotty, love ! what strange thing will not you and Bear do 
next ? ” 

“Not at all strange, sweet Meg. They knew each other long 
ago; they loved each other then. Watch the gentle Pru., and 
you will see she is more than ‘ full fathom five in love ’ now. 
But Mr. Grey is too conscientious ; you must lend us your help, 
otherwise he will leave on a sudden, knowing Lady Katherine’s 
former wishes. He will fear that she is biased now, by her 
liking for him ; and though I think in liis heart he loves sweet 
Pru. dearly, yet will he hold the secret closely shut within it, 
unless you interfere.” 

“ I will gladly do so ; I should like my dear mother to have 
so kind a son ; we must not lose him from such motives — but 
I am so selfish, Lotty, I see none of these things ” 

“ When you are selfish, then believe that Bear and I hate each 
other with a biting, acrimonious hatred, not to be matched.” 

“ When I am rich enough I wish to build a little church, 
Lotty.” 

“ Yes, a memorial church in the Upper Park, half jvay to 
High Leigh, and Mr. Grey shall be curate of it, when Gerald 
comes home.” 

“ Ah ! Lotty, you see into people’s hearts, you know every- 
thing.” 

“ Yes, truly ; among others, that your mother wishes you to 
go from home.” 

“ She wishes, Lotty, for us all to go to the sea-side.” 

“ Then we go.” 

“ I suppose so,” answered Margaret, sighing ; “ for myself, 
I want but one chapge.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


267 


This was said so low, Lotty might well be excused pretending 
not to hear it. 

“ Here is Pru., crossing the lawn. Now, Margaret, watch 
and see if my little love tale is not true. Dear Pru.,” con- 
tinued Lotty, “ in what manner have you been uncivil to Mr. 
Grey, that he is going to leave you ? ” 

“ Leave us ! goiug ! ” cried the poor unsuspecting Pru., with 
most innocent dismay. O dear ! O dear ! how unhappy I am ! ” 
and sinking into a chair, she burst into tears. 

“ Only this evening, dear, to dine with us,” said the naughty 
Lotty ; u but as you seem to take even that short separation to 
heart, perhaps Margaret will ask you also.” 

“ O ! dear Lotty, I did not think you could be so unkind,” 
sobbed Pru. 

“ Dear Charlotte,” said sweet Margaret, “ I like your Mr. 
Grey very much, and you need not be ashamed to love so good 
a man. Some of these days I shall hope to see you his good 
and gentle wife.” 

“ I think Lotty is really very, very unkind,” answered Pru., 
for once in her life feeling hot and angry. - She had reason to 
be nettled at the unkind means Lotty had taken to surprise her 
secret. 

“ Margaret would not believe me, dear ; she said you did not 
care one bit for him,” pleaded the mischievous penitent. 

“ O ! but, dear Margaret, he is so good, so kind, that is, 
mamma thinks, and I always knew, I mean of course, dear 
Margaret, it is not as that unkind Lotty says, because, you 
know, he never says anything ; and I dare say never will, 
because it is not to be expected that ” 

“ Margaret can make any sense out of all that you are saying. 
Kiss me, and forgive me, like a good Pru., and I will never be 
naughty again.” 

“ You know I must kiss and forgive you, but still you were 
very unkind ; and if somebody had done it to you, I know what 
you would say.” 

“ What now, dear Pru. ? ” 

“You would say, I hate the man ; and, perhaps, even if you 
loved him ever so much, would never speak to him again.” 

u And pray will you do the same? ” asked Lotfy, smiling. 

“ No, I am not Lotty. I do not pretend lo be anything but 

poor Pru.” 

u And therefore much more to be loved than naughty Lotty. 
So now that we are friends, take care of one thing. I may fancy 
Mr. Grey- myself.” 


268 


MARGARET 


“ Then, dear Lotty, you will be a happy woman.” 

“ Now, that is very magnanimous of you, Pru. ; but there are 
two reasons against my ever marrying Mr. Grey, even if I did 
fancy him.” 

“ And what can they be, dear Lotty? ” 

“ He loves some other person better than me, and Bear is 
decidedly against the connection. See, he looks quite fierce at 
the notion.” 

“Our Lotty is very silly sometimes, is she not, Charlotte? 
but her little eccentricities serve her purpose ; which is, to make 
us smile.” 

“ But I don’t quite think this business was fair,” begun Pru. 

“It was most unpardonable ; but you had better say no more, 
for Mr. Grey is at the door,” answered Lotty. 

“And why should he not hear what you are saying?” said 
he, being nearer than even Lotty deemed him. 

“ Because 4 Love lies bleeding ’ is not the other name for 
‘London Pride,’ and you think it is,” answered Lotty, promptly. 

“ Humph ! ” said he, gravely ; but his eyes twiukled. 


CHAPTER L X I. 

Sadly and sorrowfully Margaret walked hour after hour by 
the heedless waves. It was at Lady Montagu’s wish they had 
gone to the sea-side ; she felt that the longer Margaret refrained 
from seeing the cause of her sad fate, the more nervously would 
the fear of doing so distress her. Once recover from this shock, 
then would her patient, pious heart turn to the world, to fulfil 
the work she had to do therein. They had no fear for the con- 
sequences ; they let her indulge herself to the full ; pouring out 
her griefs ; upbraiding that cruel, remorseless sea — yet loved, 
touched, looked on, as the vast tomb of her Harold. 

It was Lotty’ s custom to sit at a distance and watch Marga- 
ret ; she seemed to know by intuition the auspicious moment to 
join her. And Lady Montagu would feel that evening was a 
bright one to her, if Margaret’s fair cheek had the faintest 
bloom on it. 

One day, as Lotty sat at her post of observation, she saw 
coming down on to the sands a stout lady, dressed in such 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


269 


a profusion of colors, it cost her some trouble to reckon them 
all up. A pink parasol was prominent ; a sort of yellow-ochre 
shawl enveloped her large person, showing portions of a bright 
green silk dress beneath ; her bonnet was tastefully done up at 
all points with little blue feathers, that, irritated in every tender 
fibre by the sharp sea-breeze, raised themselves into odd shapes 
and positions, giving the bonnet a strong resemblance to a friz^ 
zled fowl. The sand was soft and heavy, so that she left large, 
deep prints of a substantial foot, as she labored through it. 
She was followed by three nurses, each carrying a pale look- 
ing baby. Every baby being conspicuous in gorgeous clothing 
and waving plumes. 

Lotty watched Bear make a tour of observation all round this 
party, who huddled together at the sight of him like a flock of 
alarmed sheep. The lady especially tossed down her pink para- 
sol, and spread out her ample green skirts after the fashion of a 
fearful hen. 

“ Bear, who is it?” said Lotty, to that discerning individual ; 
“ it can be no one we know. O ! you think it is. Let us go 
and warn Margaret then.” 

“ Margaret, see, there is Carry ! ” said Lotty to her. 

u Ah, no, Lotty ; the sylph-like Carry can never have ex- 
panded into that person,” answered Margaret. 

“ It is Carry,” persisted Lotty ; “ look at the babies.” 

“ The small one looks rather like the one she brought down 
to Court Leigh, Lotty.” 

“ About the eyes especially,” answered Lotty, “ and also in 
regard to a certain uncertainty as to the safety of its head. I 
always felt averse to taking it, lest that important article should 
roll off. I will send Bear to inquire. Now, old fellow, go and 
do your duty. If that is an old friend, salute her like a gentle- 
maD.” 

“ They will be alarmed at Bear,” interrupted Margaret. 

11 Then you are not to go too near, Bear, or you will send 
those babies into convulsions. There, Margaret ! it is Carry. 
Look at Bear, how sulky he- is ; he knows he must behave like a 
gentleman, and salute her, but he is thoroughly ashamed of the 
acquaintance. She is much too smart for his homely ideas.” 

“ Then, Lotty, we must also go and pay our respects.” 

It was, indeed, their old schoolfellow, who greeted them in a 
most cordial maimer ; considering, as Lotty said afterwards, 
they were not babies, and had none with them. 

“01” said Carry, “ I really am delighted to see you. I shall 

23 * 


270 


MARGARET 


have such pleasure in showing you my darling children. Nurse, 
put Cecil down, that Lady Leigh may see how nicely he walks.” 

Cecil whimpered. 

“ O ! never mind, then, nurse ; you shall not walk, my 
darling, if you don’t like. Some day, Margaret, when you are 
on the sands, and he happens to be down on his legs, I will just 
give you a signal to come up quietly without his knowing, 
because he is so very shy. And see, I must introduce you to 
my little Arabella. Belle, Bella ! look up, mamma’s pet, look 
up, my darling ! Nurse, do you think she seems inclined to kiss 
her hand ? ” 

“No, ma’am, I don’t think she looks inclined to-day ; she is 
a little put out, ma’am, by the dog.” 

“ O ! then we will not force her ; I make a point, my dear 
Margaret, of never asking my children to do what they don’t 
like. And doesn’t she like the ugly dog? Ah ! naughty beast, 
go away ; Bella shall have a stick and beat him ! ” 

Arabella got up a ray of intelligence into her countenance 
upon this announcement. Luckily, Bear bounded off. 

“And now, nurse, show Lady Leigh the baby. Robert won’t 
look at her, because she is a girl, and he wanted another boy ; 
but she is much the flower of all my pets.” 

Certainly the baby was larger, fatter, and more flabby-look- 
*in£ than what Cecil had been at her asre. 

“ Little pet ! ” said the fond mother, kissing her. “ By-the- 
by, Margaret, how is your poor boy — did you ever rear him? 
I am so much out of the world now, and am so occupied with 
my darlings, that I hear no news of any sort or kind, except 
that some one of the name of Leigh, it struck me, I had seen 
was dead, in the newspaper.” Here she looked up, and the 
pure, Madonna-like face of Margaret, appearing from beneath 
the close white cap, and deep black bonnet and veil, struck on 
her baby-locked mind. “ O, I beg your pardon! — I really 
forgot ! ” 

“ Pray don’t apologize,” said Lotty, “ for either of us, as we 
can fully believe that the care of such babies must make you 
forget everything.” 

“Well, Lotty, if I did not know that you were very good- 
natured, I should say that you spoke ironically,” said Mrs. Roy- 
ston, getting red. 

“If you take it as ironical, pray do. But I do not see why 
you have not as much right to think of nothing but your babies, 
as a fisherman has of fishing.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


2T1 


“ But I did not mean to be unkind, Lofty.” 

“ I am persuaded of that,” said Margaret, gently ; “ so, pray 
make no more excuses. My little boy is quite well, thank you ; 
I left him with his sister and the nurse just by those rocks that 
you see half a mile off. He was intent upon making a fortifica- 
tion on the sand.” 

“ Good Heavens ! Did you leave them all alone, with only 
their nurse, and such a number of ill-looking fishermen about?” 

“ I have done the same for the last month, Carry, without 
any harm arising therefrom.” 

“ Nurse, turn the baby’s head this way now, I begin to feel a 
little breeze from the sea ; and, Betsy, you do the same by Ara- 
bella. That’s my pets ! ” continued Mrs. Royston ; and they 
were both kissed by their mother, for submitting to the change 
without much whimpering. 

“And so you have a little girl, Margaret? What a comfort 
that is ! And is she a nice, healthy child — or has she the same 
fearful tendency to fits that your poor boy had ? ” 

“ She is healthy and strong, thank you,” began Margaret. 

“And Little Harold never had a fit in his life,” interrupted 
Lotty. 

“ Dear me, how strange ! I have always felt so much for 
you, dear Margaret, wondering what you would do if you loft 
him suddenly- ” 

“ Good-by, Carry,” said Lotty, abruptly ; “I must go and 
see what my pet is making such a fuss about.” 

“ I did not know Lotty had a child,” said Mrs. Royston, 
looking round, as the little indignant thing went off. 

“ Her pet is her dog,” answered Margaret. 

“ How sad,” said Carry, “ that she should waste her time and 
affections upon such a great brute ! Did it frighten my darling ? 
Never mind, we will soon beat him away.” 

“ I hope Mr. Royston is quite well,” said the gentle Margav 
ret. 

“ Indeed I know nothing about him,” answered Carry, with 
asperity ; “ he insisted upon going to see some races, though the 
doctor especially enjoined the darlings going to the sea-side ; so, 
of course, if he neglected his duty to his children, I was not so 
unfeeling. Nurse, throw their veils up, the breeze is gone 
again.” 

“ Good-by, Carry, for the present,” said Margaret. 

“ Good-by, dear. I would offer to accompany you on your 
walk, for it is quite a pleasure to see you once again, and I 


272 


MARGARET. 


should like to have a long talk with you about our children ; hut, 
you see, I never leave them. Every moment requires a change 

— which none but a fond mother can see. But I should like to 
call upon you, and have a chat about happy old times.’* 

Lotty, as if intuitively knowing that Carry was only adding 
stab to stab, now called Margaret, and they left the sands in the 
peaceable possession of Mrs. Royston and her nursery. The 
next day, Lotty besought Margaret to go out at an unusual hour. 
She had made it her business, in the early morning, to discover 
Mrs. Royston’s sea-side habits, and, for several days, was suc- 
cessful in avoiding a collision ; but Mrs. Royston discovered that 
all the world in that small sea-bathing place were thinking and 
talking of nothing but the fair, pale mourners, clad both in such 
deep crape ; and the interest and excitement about them was none 
the less from the seclusion in which they lived. Their history 
was too well known, through public report, for them to hope 
they were unrecognized. But the fact gained them this advan- 
tage — they were never intruded upon. 

Curious eyes, from a distance, might scan their every move- 
ment with interest, while gathered groups would meet only to 
discuss some new fact concerning them ; but the hard hand of 
fate had so oppressed them, a sacred air seemed to hallow the 
spot they breathed in, rendering it too holy for busy, bustling, 
worldly thoughts to enter. Thus, with a rare feeling of delicacy, 

— a feeling they warmly appreciated, — it was sufficient for 
Lady Leigh to select her portion of the sands, and none in- 
truded on her. Nevertheless, the little world of health-seekers, 
pleasure-hunters, pebble-finders, bathers, sketchers, and all that 
incongruous crowd who frequent a watering-place, each, for dif- 
ferent reasons of their own, indemnified themselves for their 
forbearance by talking. 

Thus Carry found herself, on a sudden, elevated to a pinnacle 
of wonder and interest that she had never gained, even as the 
mother of the most charming babes in the world, merely be- 
cause she was seen speaking, on apparently intimate terms, with 
the objects of their devoted attention. And when it was dis- 
covered she had actually been at school with both of them, and 
bridesmaid to one of them, she was nearly torn to pieces (meta- 
• phorically) with visits and questions. The three lovely babies 
stood in great danger of being neglected, while Carry was 
undergoing the trying ordeal of being a popular character. 

On the third day, she announced her intention of calling. 
Several parties invited themselves to a sea-side tea on her 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


273 


return, that they might gain the earliest particulars of the visit, 
and he ready to retail them all at bathing-time next morning. 
So Carry departed, aware that from every window of the Cres- 
cent her progress would be watched, until she arrived at the 
little, insulated, ivy-bound villa, in which her schoolfellows had 
secluded themselves and their sorrows. She was gorgeously 
apparelled for the occasion, and the three white, watery-eyed 
babies shone conspicuous in crimson feathers, and broad red 
sashes to match ; whereby the youngest of all seemed rather to 
be composed entirely of sash, Avithout reference to anything of 
the baby kind. It was a strange, incongruous company that 
was thus slioAvn into the cool, dark drawing-room, Avhere the 
holy spirit of pious, patient grief sat enthroned. 

“Well, dear Margaret, I have brought the dear children with 
me ; I thought they Avould serve to amuse you and divert your 
thoughts. But, Lotty, would you oblige me by turning out that 
horrid dog? My darling Arabella is beginning to Avhimper 
already.” 

“ Bear, go aAvay,” said the Little Bear, in her most morose 
mood. 

Bear arose majestically, and casting a glance of mingled con- 
tempt and disgust upon Mrs. Royston as he passed her, he 
reared himself up to his full proportions, and, with wonderful 
skill, got out of the AvindoAv and disappeared. 

“ LaAv ! ” said Carry, rather alarmed, “ what an odd dog ! 
did you teach him that, Lotty?” 

“ I never teach Bear anything but to love me,” answered the 
Little Bear, with the nearest attempt to a groAvling tone she 
could accomplish. 

“ It is very wonderful, Mrs. Royston,” said Lady Montagu, 
“ to see hoAv that dog understands Mrs. Leigh. You need 
not be under any alarm about your children, for I can assure 
you he is more like an old nurse Avith little Harold and his 
sister.” 

“ Dear me ! are they not afraid of him?” 

“ On the contrary, they think no treat so great as a romp 
with Bear. His services are often required to amuse baby, 
when Margaret lays her on the floor, during the nurse’s meals.” 

“I should like to see your children very much, Margaret,” 
said Carry, secretly Avishing to compare such an apparently ill- 
used baby Avith her OAvn, so much more carefully nursed. 

They Avere brought doAvn ; and even in the half-withered heart 
of Margaret there rose a deep feeling of pride and delight as she 


274 


MARGARET 


showed her dead Harold’s princely boy to her schoolfellow ; 
while Lotty recovered her good-humor, as she took in her arms 
the little, laughing, crowing babe, fair, fresh, and sweet as new- 
plucked violets — a striking contrast with her dark, intelligent 
eyes and rosy, baby beauty, to the poor little sash-laden Royston 
baby. 

“ Make your bow, Sir Harold,” said the nurse, “ and shake 
hands with the young gentleman.” 

Little Harold obeyed with the gravity and propriety of a high- 
ly-bred young courtier, and then looking round, said, “ Where 
is Bear ? ” 

At the sound of his name, a pair of deep-set eyes, and fine 
drooping ears, became visible over the window-sill. 

“ O ! don’t let him come in ! ” cried Mrs. Royston, who was 
beginning to think Bear something of the demoniacal order. 

Bear showed all his fangs, as he smiled a grim, sardonic 
smile of scorn, and disappeared. 

“ Bear is a good dog, ma’am,” said young Harold, eying her 
with irrepressible curiosity. 

“ Ah ! my dear, you don’t know what he might do if you 
were alone with him ; he might eat you up, for he is as big 
as a wolf.” 

u He would eat the wolf up, or kill him as Gelert did Prince 
Llewellyn’s dog.” 

“ I do not know Prince Llewellyn, dear ; but if I was your 
mamma, I would not trust you, an only son, and likely to be so, 
and a title to keep up, with such a great beast as that.” 

The greater part of this speech being Greek to young Harold, 
he contented himself with asking if he should read to her the 
history of Prince Llewellyn. 

“ Read ! good heavens ! Margaret, do you mean to tell me 
your boy reads at his age? He’ll die of water on the brain, 
mark my word.” 

“It is rather too soon to teach him much; but having, for 
his own amusement, shown him the letters, he has almost taught 
himself the words.” 

“ It’s wonderful lie continues to look so healthy,” answered 
Mrs. Royston, scanning the fine straight limbs of the boy, and 
unable to detect a flaw in the beautiful, blooming face. “ And 
how old is baby? I do not remember to have seen her birth 
in the paper.” 

“ My little granddaughter,” answered Lady Montagu, with 
solemn gravity, “ is eight months old ; she came to bless her 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 275 

mother’s life with a new interest, at a -time when God seemed to 
have forsaken her.” 

“ She is a gift from the sea,” murmured Lotty, kissing her 
little namesake and godchild. 

“Are your children strong and healthy?” asked Margaret, 
whose cheeks flushed and paled with every word, for all she 
spoke so calmly. 

This proved a fortunate question in some respects, for though 
it led Mrs. Royston into a long and uninteresting history of her 
three children, and the showing forth of their various perfections 
and talents, it was only tiresome, and not wounding. Once upon 
the topic, like a good hound in full cry, Mrs. Royston nor stopped 
nor stayed for any other matter, and the rest of her visit passed 
off pretty well. 

Upon her return to her own house, she was enabled to report 
a vast quantity of new materials to the general fund of conver- 
sation. And though these were somewhat mixed up with “ I 
gave her my mind ; and I told her what I did in Cecil’s case ; 
and I advised her to treat her exactly as I did Arabella,” with 
further enlightenments regarding those interesting points, yet 
they learned many new facts. Such as, — “The boy was called 
Sir Harold already by his nurse. The girl was eight months’ 
old, and born very mysteriously. The young Sir Harold could 
read, and had a very broad forehead, indicative of water on the 
brain. Mrs. Leigh wore no widow’s cap in the house, but Lady 
Leigh looked all cap, her face was so small and thin. The 
nurse kissed the baby, just as if it was her own, and ordered 
young Sir Harold about as if he was only a common boy. But 
Lady Leigh was given that way ; she had always allowed her 
servants to take liberties. Young Sir Harold wore a common 
brown Holland pinafore, and the great dog was a demon, just 
that, and more.” 

By the next morning, all these interesting particulars had 
increased tenfold ; consequently, whenever Bear inadvertently, 
allured by an innocent hilarity, ventured to extend his gallops 
beyond a certain vef’ge, a general flight of brown straw hats, 
frantic nurses, and alarmed children, took place, clearing the 
sands like magic. 

Having gained her purpose, namely, that Margaret should 
"■et over the first shock of seeing that- remorseless, but beautiful 
destroyer of her happiness, Lady Montagu proposed a return 
home. 

A third visit from Carry hastened them. They could not hope 


276 


MARGARET 


she would always talk of lier children, and even that hope, as 
Lotty said, “ she wished was safely deposited in Pandora’s box.” 
The hope was becoming worse than the disease. 

* * * * 

They found Lady Katherine overflowing with health and de- 
light at seeing them. Pru., thin, nervous, and fidgety ; Mr. 
Grey, solemn and silent, very unusual for him. 

“ Pru., what have you been doing to Mr. Grey? ” said Lotty, 
severely. 

“ O ! my dear, dear Lotty ! I do not know. I am so unhappy, 
I have been longing for you every day.” 

“Have you refused the poor man?” again asked the stern 
little questioner. “For if you have, I shall be obliged to ask 
Bear’s consent to marry him myself.” 

Here Pru. wept ; and between sobs and tears, much misgiv- 
ings, and great takings on, Lotty made out that Mr. Grey talked 
of going away, leaving Rose Leigh, High Leigh, all the Leighs, 
as soon as he could find a substitute. 

“ Alack and alas ! This happens because I went away,” 

“ Of course it does, dear Lotty.” 

“ He thinks he ought to leave because he loves you, and must 
not take advantage of Lady Katherine’s present bias in his favor.” 

“ Yes, indeed, dear Lotty, that is just it, if you will not think 
me very conceited.” 

“No ! not very ; but I think he carries his ideas of honor too 
far.” 

“ Yes, yes, a great deal ; indeed, indeed, Lotty, he is far too 
honorable.” 

“ Well, that is not a fashionable crime ; so you think he loves 
you ! ” 

“Yes, dear Lotty,” answered Pru., blushing and faltering. 
“ Though he rarely speaks to me, he always does everything for 
me.” 

“ As how ! ” 

“ He always opens the door for me, and always sets my chair, 
and he watches me silently, and he picks up my knotting.” 

“ Poor man ! he must be worked to death. And does your 
mother say nothing?” 

“ No ! she only seems to like him more every day, and she 
calls him John ; think of that now, Lotty ! ” 

“ Humph ! and do you call him John?” 

“ O, no ! Lotty. How can you think so, or that I would so 
far forget myself? ” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 277 

u I’ll bet you a lock of Bear’s hair against one of Mr. Grey’s, 
that you call him John soon.” 

“ Lotty, Lotty ! you are no wiser since you went to the sea- 
side — you will joke.” 

“We met Mrs. Royston there, which was no joke. Now, dry 
your eyes, look happy, and try to sit still for an hour ; then if I 
find you have done so, and are a good girl, I may have some 
news for you. Kiss me, just to show we are friends.” 

“ As if I ever thought otherwise, Lotty.” 

An hour afterwards, Margaret was seated with Lady Katherine. 

“ Mother,” said the low, soft voice, like a gentle breath blow- 
ing through myrtle leaves, “ Mr. Grey talks of leaving us.” 

“ Ah, my daughter, my child, say not so — what should I be 
without him ? ” 

“ He loves our Charlotte now, as he did ten years ago.” 

“Is it true? can so great a blessing be vouchsafed to me, 
unworthy sinner as I am ? Ah ! Margaret, but for him I never 
should have borne the sight of your sweet face again. But for 
him I never would have knelt to the God I so sinned against.” 

“ I know it, mother : it is my wish, it has long been so, that 
you should give him the sacred title of son.” 

“ Bless you ! Heaven bless my Margaret ! I know not which 
way my weak, foolish feet would lead me, but for his sustaining 
arm. I am but a child, Margaret, in such ways, still blindly 
stumbling among all my former wicked sins.” 

“ Nay, mother, think not thus ; a loss such as ours, leads us 
straight to God’s footstool. But Mr. Grey — he thinks if he 
asked you now for our Charlotte, you would not refuse, but he 
fears you would repent hereafter.” 

“ Never, never ; ah ! Margaret, how can I convince him? ” 

“You must speak to him, mother, and learn his real feelings. 
Then you must say (after he has really told you he loves her) , 
that I would take it kindly of him, if he will occupy in your 
bereaved heart the place of my Harold.” 

“ Ah ! my daughter.” 

“ Yes, mother, it is so. Then if his feelings are still scrupu- 
lous, we must send for Basil. Perhaps our Lotty may devise 
something.” 

“ That she has done already,” said Lotty, entering as she 
spoke. “ I have told him that even if Gerald Herbert does 
come home, you are going to build a new church. F am going 
to endow it, and he will be required to serve it. I also gave him 
a sermon, under three heads, with an excellent text, on the folly 
24 


278 


MARGARET 


of being too scrupulous, and the inconvenience of having an 
undue proportion of conscientiousness. And that the heart of 
an honest, good man, showed its sense by acting with calm dis- 
cretion and judgment, and not flighting violently off into most 
uncomfortable but grandly heroic acts, that generally killed two 
or three people at the onset, and made all the rest so miserable, 
they wished themselves dead also. 4 For my part,’ I said, 
4 when I see a man acting in an outrageous manner, I mean out- 
raging nature, and all the good feelings we get from Heaven, 
because he fears the world may deem him acting an interested 
part, I then think he is a hypocrite. Most part of his feelings 
regard himself, and the rest are worth nothing.’ Whereat he 
winced capitally, Queen Margaret. All men are weak on some 
point, and Mr. Grey’s is a desire to be thought highly sincere.” 

44 He is a good, excellent man, and I would he were my son, 
Lotty, if I am worthy to have such,” said Lady Katherine. 

44 I think he is going to speak to you the first opportunity, 
madam ; for, as I said to him, 4 Do you mean us to go down on 
our knees and ask you to become connected with us ? ’ he red- 
dened in a violent blush, and said, 4 God forbid that I should 
expect as a right what I would beseech as Heaven’s best boon.’ 
Rather pretty ; I have treasured up the words for Pru.’s benefit 
some day.” 

44 Where is he now ? ” asked Margaret. 

44 He is perambulating the cedar walk. I know, by the 
expression of his face, and the manner of his walk, he is going 
to search his heart, and lay it before God. He is a good man, 
truly, but I fear he would have borne his own burden of the 
flesh bravely and silently, save for Pru.’s sake. So you like my 
Lairds, Margaret?” 

44 Yes, Lotty, how they love you ! Ah ! my little Lotty, what 
did I not hear of you ? ” 

44 1 am afraid, dear child, you must have suffered much with 
poor Philip,” said Lady Katherine. 

44 Nay, madam, ask Mrs. Laird ; she will tell you I was aye 
a feckless bairn, and no fit for a wife. Margaret, don’t you 
love Miss Rachel ? ” 

44 Yes, Lotty, with a strange love too ; it is so unlike any- 
thing I ever felt before for any one.” 

44 Come, come, I shall be jealous ; but in her quiet, simple, 
earnest manner, I see always before me the wise virgin, with 
her lamp trimmed, waiting with wistful, loving eyes, the coming 
of her Lord. She has had much sorrow.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


279 


u And the last brimmed her cup.” 

“ For a time, Margaret. For she says, now she can see the 
vista of a peaceful close to her life, the only time of rest she has 
ever enjoyed. I like to see you together. You are the stricken 
angel whose dove’s wings arc shattered and broken ; she is the 
grave pilgrim, quietly marching, with upturned face, over the 
cutting stones and rude paths of this earth, unheeding aught but 
the light beyond.” 

u She does me good, Lotty.” 

“I know it, Margaret. Hand in hand your treasure and 
hers passed into the rough sea of death together. Hand in hand 
you two will walk through life, supporting each other in the 
same hope and wish. But here comes Mr. Grey. See, Mar- 
garet, his step is firm, his head thrown back, his eyes bright. 
He and his conscience have settled the matter comfortably. He 
is coming straight to ask Lady Katherine to be his mother, like 
an honest English gentleman.” 

“ Dear Lady Katherine ! ” said Mr. Grey, approaching her at 
once, on entering, without heeding Margaret and Lotty, u may 
I be your son ? May I express the love that has been so long 
burning in my heart for your Charlotte, and ask her to be my 
wife?” 

Old Lady Katherine elevated herself to her utmost height, as 
she would have done in former days, on some grand court day. 
But this time her only motive was to put her arms round Mr. 
Grey’s neck, and say : ‘ God bless you, my son, my dear son ! 
for making me thus happy.” 

“ But you?” said Mr. Grey, turning half to Margaret, while 
he supported Lady Katherine still. 

“ I wish you to be Harold to her,” said Margaret. 

“ Are they not too kind, Mrs. Leigh? Tell me, am I not too 
presumptuous?” 

“ Yes, a great deal. How do you know if Pru. will have 
you? ” answered she. 

u O ! go for her ; send for my Charlotte. Let me know, ere I 
sleep to-night, that this happiness is really to be mine,” cried 
Lady Katherine. 

I will seek her,” said Lotty ; “ for I agree with you, the 
sooner we get the matter settled the better.” 

“ Pru., Pru.,” said she, on discovering the object of her 
search, still sitting where she had left her, “ your mother wants 
you immediately to knot.” 

“ I will come,” said Pru., with sighing meekness. 


280 


MARGARET 


“ She does not require you for the usual sort of knotting, hut 
for quite a new kind of work, which may be styled knitting 
knots,” continued the flighty Lotty, as they went down stairs. 

M Knotting is rather wearisome,” sighed Pru. 

u Well, if this new work proves so, whistle for Bear, and he 
will undo it all.” 

This time Lady Katherine did not insist upon the offer taking 
place under the walnut trees, in full sight of her decorous eyes. 
But Pru. found herself, all of a sudden, alone, in the small, 
green drawing-room with Mr. Grey ; and before she had time 
to recover that fact, he had gently drawn her close to his heart, 
and was beseeching her with eyes and speech, to bless him with 
the gift of her heart, and suffer him to call by the holy name of 
u wife,” the woman he had loved so long and well. 


C RA PTEE L X 1 1 . 

Miss Rachel Clare was a woman with whom the world had 
dealt hardly from her earliest childhood. Her father was no 
whit behind any of the Clares in vice and wickedness, but had 
distinguished himself among them by breaking the heart of a 
gentle, amiable wife, causing the early deaths of all his children, 
save two, from harshness and privations, and grinding down his 
poor daughter’s soul to the extremest point of suffering and 
degradation ; until, fortunately for her, and the little baby sister, 
whom all had cared for, in the midst of their troubles, the 
measure of his iniquities was completed. He was called to his 
account. 

Upon his death, Miss Clare found herself and her little sister 
totally destitute. But now that her fate was in her own hands, 
it was no part of her creed to endure the worst suffering of all, 
namely, a precarious dependence upon the scant humiliating 
charity of her relations. 

She opened a day school, and toiled early and late the first 
year, to make both ends meet. She was successful beyond her 
hopes, though her exertions and anxieties paled her cheek for- 
ever, and caused the gray hairs of age to take early possession 
of their place. She had but one pleasure, the love of her little 
sister ; and as she bloomed into the beauty peculiar to the 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


281 


Glares, slie gave greater proofs of goodness than were usual in 
that family. Rachel still worked harder than she ought, to give 
her little Fanny all the advantages she was born to, and perhaps 
was somewhat injudicious in suffering the pretty, little, gay girl, 
to taste of pleasures, however sparingly, in which she did not 
share. A little wilfulness was beginning to spring up on the 
part of Fanny, which was just shadowing out an ominous cloud 
of further sorrow for Rachel, when a terrible, fearful death put 
an end to both feelings forever. 

The first breath of this awful intelligence came upon Rachel 
like a withering simoom. They had parted in anger. The 
elder sister remembered the sharp words of reproof with which 
she had dismissed her wilful Fanny — yet her darling, her 
pride, her sole happiness. Never more should she hear the lit- 
tle, soft lips beseech the pardon she was sure to demand ; never 
more should she press them again in full forgiveness. The time 
was past, gone : unforgiven — unkissed — unblest, the little, girl- 
ish thins: of sixteen had met a terrible fate, with no tender ear 
to hear her last cries of despair ; no fond, sisterly arm to 
become her sheltering tomb. Unable to save, yet happy to die, 
so that they had died together, was Rachel’s thought. There 
were none to sympathize with her — none to console. The 
Clares were but little loved, and in the eyes of the world, the 
terrible death of one rich and well-born, like Sir Harold Leigh, 
absorbed all interest, leaving none to bestow upon the young 
and thoughtless girl. 

Nothing* was now left to her but to die. She prayed of God 
to take her, that she might the sooner meet the little spirit 
scared from its earthly tenement so fearfully ; and yet reason 
and life remained to her. 

How long the struggle might have lasted, it is hard to say ; 
but, like a messenger from her little sister, came Lord Erls- 
court, bearing in his hand, not only her last words from the sea, 
but the consoling sympathy of hearts mourning still more 
deeply than her own. She was ready to perform the bidding 
of those who were henceforward to be connected with her by 
sorrow, that strong binder of heart to heart. 

She barely took time to read her Fanny’s dying words, so 
urged was she in spirit to adjourn at once to a country and 
people where sympathy would hallow her grief and render it 
bearable. Away from Cowes, the scene of all her hard life, 
she might hope to find consolation in thinking of her little one ; 
she could better school herself to endure her loss, take com- 
24 * 


282 


MARGARET 


fort from her words, and look on grief more bitter than her 
own. 

With Fanny’s letter close to her heart, the poor, lonely Rachel 
left Cowes in Lord Erlscourt’s company the same evening ; and 
ere she arrived at her future abode, the Rectory, gratitude and 
hope brought a pulse of life into it. She looked with interest at 
her new home, around which no painful recollections gathered 
themselves, and thought that ease and comfort would now be 
hers, for Lord Erlscourt’s arrangement was riches to her. 
Under these circumstances she could read and weep over her 
Fanny’s letter, without feeling that God had entirely deserted 
her. But when she saw that pale, stricken wife, within whose 
shadowy eyes there dwelt a look so sad, so desolate, yet withal 
so resigned and unearthlike, she folded her hands in prayer to 
God, beseeching him to look down in pitying love upon such woe. 

And then she joined her efforts to those of all around her, 
to watch over and guard that “wearied and heavy-laden” 
mourner. 

She placed in poor Margaret’s hands, without a word, her 
treasured letter, over which she nightly prayed, rightly judging 
that the artless words would have their due effect. It was as 
follows, partly written by Sir Harold and partly by the little 
girl herself, just sixteen. 

“ My mother-sister, your Fanny will never see you more. Is 
not that sorrow enough to break her heart ? — and yet there is 
something worse before her. Great waves are rising high on 
every side, and they rush in anger on our ship. O ! sister, your 
little Fanny sees them coming, and knows they will soon ingulf 
her, and she will be but a little reed, broken and crushed in 
those wild waters. Your little, petted, indulged Fanny who 
would have shrunk at the touch of death, even circled in your 
dear arms. But there is one very kind and good to me, Sir 
Harold Leigh ; he writes these words for me, because I tremble, 
sister. I think how I left you in anger, but if God hears the 
prayers of such a little thing as I am, he will hear me asking 
pardon of you, my only mother. But I must drown in those 
dreadful waves, and never hear you say, ‘ I love my Fanny more 
than all the world.’ Sir Harold says God hears my slightest 
word, even in this wild tumult. I pray that he may not hear 
poor Augusta — she raves. And yet she leaves none behind 
her to mourn as that Margaret will, whom Sir Harold names 
with every prayer, or even as my Rachel, when she hears of 
her little Fanny’s doom. He ims read to me that Holy Book, 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


283 


and he has prayed for me, because I am so weak and trembling, 
sister. I think, if we had parted in love, I might have been 
braver, I might have been sure that God would listen to my 
prayer. But, sister-mother, he says I must comfort you. What 
shall I say? You will look at his Margaret, and then feel that 
your loss is as a drop of water to her ocean of grief. And if I 
am wayward now, I might have become worse. Sister, perhaps 
God has taken me from the evil to come. I think to myself, it 
will be but one shock, and then I shall be safe in heaven, and 
can never more be wilful and disobedient. I might have be- 
come very naughty. I felt pleased to be thought like Augusta, 
and O ! Rachel, if you could see her now, — God have pity on 
her! No prayer comes from her lips — she cannot hear the 
Holy Book — she will not listen to the calm words of resigna- 
tion that Sir Harold has for all — yes, all of us. He has gone 
on deck, and said, if I wrote but one line, it would comfort you. 
And I make the trial, if it is but to tell you, Rachel, that this 
good and noble man has saved his soul, I feel ; for during these 
three days of anguish and fear, he has been the comforter, the 
supporter of all. The meanest man among the crew, receives 
from him the same care and thought that I do, a little, weak, 
timid girl. By his piety, fortitude, and solemn preparation for 
death, he has nerved many a weak soul on board ; and when 
our awful summons comes, he will take with him, in the same 
hour that his own soul is required, all those whom he has thus 
fortified. They look at him with wonder and admiration. And 
I like to think, sister, that perhaps already the Holy Son of God 
is hovering halfway between heaven and earth, ready to take 
the fine and noble spirit so fitted for Paradise, at once there. 
And I may hope to go with him, and many others think as I do, 
I know. And, Rachel, you will be able to tell her this, that 
Margaret whom he says will comfort you, she will like to know 
that this Harold, whom sfie love3 so well, made a little weak 
girl fearless and resigned, by his noble example. The ship 
drives so, Rachel, you must not think I tremble now by my 
writing. In a short time all will be over. "When you mourn 
for Fanny, remember who has lost a Harold, and thank God, 
that you may endeavor to comfort her. For, dear sister- 
mother, a lifetime thus spent, would be all too little to repay 
what he has done, through the mercy of Jesus Christ, for the 
soul of your little, fond, loving Fanny.” 


284 


MARGARET 


CHAPTER L X 1 1 1 . 

So Lotty’s birthday came again. And the snow was deep on 
the ground, and the branches of the trees were all marked out 
in pure white lines against the deep blue sky. 

Lotty and Bear were out walking, and the crisp snow sounded 
under their feet as they went, with a cheerful, pleasant noise ; 
and Lotty’s breath rose up in the clear, frosty air, like a little 
tiny cloud, while Bear’s enveloped him all in a mist, that settled 
itself in small icicles over his bristles, ears, and coat, making 
him look, for the nonce, an aged, gray-haired dog. 

They had had a very busy year, and had done a great many 
things, and now they were looking forward to this year as one 
which should raise the heavy pressure of grief from the hearts 
they loved best, and permit the dim eyes of sorrow to look once 
more with pleasure on the world in which they lived. 

Fresh, bright, beautiful frost ! No wonder Lotty and Bear 
bounded along as if still very childish, both of them. 

They were going to High Leigh in the early morning, to see 
Mr. and Mrs. Laird, get a cup of milk warm from Mrs. Laird’s 
beautiful Ayrshire cow, and be back by Margaret’s breakfast 
hour. 

“ Ech, bairn ! but ye luik like a rosebud the morn. And sae 
ye air nineteen years awld the day. One wouldn’t think it, to 
luik at her, Aleck ! but she has had a world o’ sorrow to mak 
up. Ye ought to hae been grayheaded the noo, bairn, wi’ a’ 
yer troubles.” 

“ You see I have such a hard heart, Mrs. Laird.” 

“ Hard heart ! at no hand, bairn, say that ; if yer heart is 
hard, whatten a sort o’ heart hae ither folks getten? Hae ye 
ony news for us ? ” 

u Yes, you are to please to come and dine to-day, you and the 
.doctor, at Court Leigh.” 

“ And wha will we meet, think you? ” _ 

“ First, there will be Lady Katherine.” 

“ Ech ! puir bit silly body, she has nae such sense as even the 
big doggie.” 

“ But it is better to see her so humble and childlike as she is, 
Mrs. Laird, than what she was before.” 

“ I dinna luve to see auld, ancient folks like her leaning on 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


285 


little bairns like you for counsel and advice. It’s no natural ; 
and when ye are to the fore, or the pretty Lady Leigh, she’ll 
no step the floor, unless ye advise her.” 

“ That is her humility ; she wishes to make up to Lady 
Leigh for the great sorrow of her life, and so trusts her like a 
little child.” 

“ It’s no canny, my bairn, and she must aye hae been but a 
silly body, at the best ; sae gang on wi’ the rest, though she be 
the grandest leddy there.” 

“ Then there is Lord Erlscourt, and his two brothers.” 

“ I’ll aye hae to pit on a’ my best claithes. Them is folk now, 
and I maun tell the doctor to hae his finest wits about him.” 

u Are you afraid of Laird Erlscourt, Mrs. Laird?” 

u Na, na, bairn, but we maun aye pay respect to our betters.” 

“ But you would not put on your best gown for Lady Kathe- 
rine.” 

“ Hoot, bairn ! you’re no wise the morn. Div ye no see the 
differ atween a man like my Laird Erlscourt and thon? I’m 
thinking there ne’er was a body like him for sense and goodness, 
whether he is a laird, or no but a common mon, like my doctor. 
Ay, me ! but I’ll pit on my cap o’ Limerick lace. And wha 
else, ye bit thing?” 

“ There will be Mr. Frank, and Mrs. Frank.” 

“ Ay ! them’s nice people, heartsome folk ; and though she’s 
a bit, joost ye ken, stiff like, I’m thinking it’s muir shyness than 
pride. And they bit bounie twins. Nae wonder to see their 
father doighted about them.” 

“ But the twins won’t dine with us.” 

“ Come, come, nane o’ yer clavers ; ye mak nae jokes o’ me, 
ye bit mischief! I’ll be axing ye next if Bear is to be at the 
banquet. And wha else div ye expect ? ” 

“ There will be two of my brothers, and some more of my 
people ” 

“ The mair the better, say I,” interrupted Mrs. Laird. 

“ And Miss Leigh, and Mr. Grey, and Rachel ” 

“ Ay, my word, to think of ye being such a match-maker. 
They tell me, as you tolled that puir, silly body, Lady Katherine, 
it wad be a guid thing did her and him marry. And she said 
‘ Ay,’ at the first word.” 

“ Don’t you think it will be a nice thing for all parties? ” 

u I see nothing agin it, more belike, if they dinna mak up 
their minds soon, they maun just let it be. They’re no sac 
young. And hae ye any ither body coming ? ” 


286 


MARGARET 


“ Yes, there are a Mr. and Mrs. Bankes, who came unexpect 
edly last night without an invitation. But we think they will 
not stay very long.” 

“ I aye like to see new folks, but I dinna think I’ll get fond of 
them. I never heard ye say their names afore, so I’m speering 
that they’ll be no just what me and Alick will cotton to.” 

“ O ! Mrs. Laird, don’t be prejudiced ; you will find Mrs. 
Bankes a very chatty, lively woman ; and Mr. Bankes very gen- 
tlemanly and quiet. But I must go now, or I shall be late for 
breakfast.” 

“ Weel, gang awa wi’ ye. I ken by yer een them new folks 
is naething to ye, and yer having yer fun o’ me. But here, tak 
a present fra’ the doctor and me. Could we gie ye what we 
wish, it wad be a’ we had, and oursels besides, ye bit, bonny, 
lovesome thing ! ” 

And Mrs. Laird kissed the rosy face again and again, until 
Bear got frightfully jealous, and walked otf sulking, with his 
tail between his legs. 

Who was shortly after met by Basil ; and though both knew 
Lotty was but two steps behind, yet they took no notice of her, 
but talked to each other, as if Basil was as much accustomed to 
confide his thoughts to Bear as ever Lotty was. 

“ So ! Bear, little Lotty has offended you, has she? ” 

“ I wish you would not call me little Lotty, Basil ; it really i.' 
not proper,” said Lotty from behind. 

“But she is very little, is she not, Bear?” said Basil, going 
on as if not hearing her. “ So we must put up with a great- 
deal of nonsense in her, because she is so.” 

“ Nonsense, indeed ! ” said the voice behind. 

“ And we both know that, though so little, she is very well' 
meaning in all she rays and does. Eh, Bear? ” 

“ Much obliged for such an opinion,” from behind. 

“ And considering that she is only nineteen years old to-day, 
Bear, we must not expect her to be so wise as we are. When 
she is about forty, perhaps we may see her grave and serious 
like us.” 

“ Ha ! indeed ! ” from behind. 

“ In the mean time, Bear, supposing she should be what Mrs. 
Laird says, a myth, a fairy angel strayed away, and that she 
should suddenly fly off and leave us. What would Lady Kathe- 
rine do? Go after her, Bear, I think, as fast as she could hob- 
ble. And gentle Pru. ? and warm-hearted Pro.? why, I think 
they would run after her also, with a little twin girl iu each arm. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


287 


Then Mr. and Mrs. Laird, Mr. Grey, and all the Beauvillians, 
dying the same way.” 

“ How absurd you are this morning, Basil ! ” said the voice 
behind. 

u But as for Queen Margaret, Bear, little Lotty could not slip 
away without telling her where to follow. And if Queen Mar- 
garet remained behind, we should have the little myth back 
again. So you and I, Bear, will ever keep by Queen Margaret’s 
side, then shall we be sure of seeing that little wild Lotty.” 

“ Not so sure as you think,” was heard in a very sulky voice. 
“ And I always thought you so sensible, Basil.” 

“We never can be sensible when Lotty is near, can we, Bear? 
she is so ” 

“ Come, Bear, come to me ; you are hearing very foolish 
things, and must listen no longer.” 

“ Ah, Lotty, how strange of you to be a listener ! Now it is 
one of the last things I should have supposed you ” 

“ Pray don’t suppose any more things about me, Lord Erls- 
court.” 

“ O ! we are proud, are we ? ” 

“ That is better than being silly.” 

“ How can one help it on such a day? I rose up intoxicated 
with joy, and seeing a fairy footfall on the fresh snow, I came 
in pursuit. And I was merely following your example, con- 
fiding my feelings to Bear.” 

“ That reminds me, I really wish to know, Basil, how you, of 
whom I always held so high an opinion, could be so mean as to 
listen to a private conversation?” 

“ I did not mean to be so mean, I assure you ; but I thought 
the first time I fell into the snare, that you were talking to me. 
Upon hearing the name of Bear, I immediately departed, not to 
intrude on a tete-a-tete.” 

And may I ask what you did hear?” 

“ I agreed in one opinion very strongly, and whether to admire 
you or Bear most I did not know. You said you would not be 
Flo., and Bear said he would not be Carry. Ah, Lotty, my 
sweet, dear Lotty ! I did not mean to vex you ; don’t you know 
that I think ” 

“ I do not care what you think ! ” as passionato tears burst 
from her eyes. 

“ Then, upon my honor, I heard no more than that, Lotty, 
and it was quite accidental ; and, much as I was pleased with 
the conceit of the thing, I honorably went away.” 


288 


MARGARET 


“ Why did you not say so at once, Basil ?” 

“ Because I am such a weak, foolish fellow. I enjoyed seeing 
you put out.” 

“ Then you shall have no such enjoyment again.” 

“ Sweet Lotty ! tell me with your truthful eyes that you are 
not really offended. I followed you out, that I might be the 
first to give you the best wishes of the day, that I might make 
you my little present, and apart from the crowd of birthday 
gifts that I know are to be showered upon you. Will you 
forgive me ? — will you accept it ? ” 

“■If a. man chooses to be silly, why am I to forgive him? I 
have nothing to forgive. But Mrs. Laird gave me my first con- 
gratulations and present.” 

“ Do let me see it,” said Basil, with boyish curiosity ; “ if it 
is prettier than mine, I’ll send to London for another.” 

They opened the parcel between them, and discovered a 
small scarf of exquisite old point-lace, which looked as if an in- 
dustrious spider had spent her whole life in spinning it. 

“ Ah ! ” said Lotty, “ it is the prettiest ; it will be. Basil, you 
can have nothing so lovely as this ! ” 

“ Lovely, indeed ! It looks to me like very irregular old 
cobwebs ; and it is not even washed yet.” 

“Ah, Basil! you are just like all gentlemen; you know 
nothing about women’s dress. Mrs. Laird must have known I 
was so fond of old lace, and this will do to throw over my curls 
when Lady Katherine comes, as she is shocked to see me with- 
out a cap.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, no ! ” exclaimed Basil. “Why should 
you go mourning about the world, as if you had lost your first 
love — your husband ? It is all very well for Margaret.” 

“ Basil, I think you don’t quite know what you are saying.” 

“ I believe you are right ; but don’t wrap up your curls ; — 
besides, the year is out for what people call weeds.” 

“Wrap up my curls! — as if they were parcels, or news- 
papers to be sent off ! But where is your present ? I am sure 
you are ashamed of it, and cannot show it after Mrs. Laird’s.” 

“ Mine is quite in a different style ; and, besides, I have taken 
a great deal of trouble about it. I wanted to match something, 
and all over London I could find nothing in art or nature to 
equal them.” 

“ Whose were they, and what arc they?” 

“ They are tAvo eyes, and in your possession,” said Basil. 

“ Ah ! I dare say, iioav, you have brought, me a set of but- 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


289 


tons made of cat’s-eye pebbles. Hideous ! — I won’t accept 
them ! ” 

“ They are not cat’s-eye pebbles, and they are not buttons.” 

“ Then they are great staring carbuncles.” 

“ Which, you know, I suppose, would just match your eyes, 
little Lotty.” 

“ Don’t Basil ; I am nineteen to-day.” 

“ Then, Lotty, take my present, and, with it, more good wishes 
than I care to own. For Mrs. Bankes is just drawing the cur- 
tains of her bed-room window — and she will, perhaps, tell tales 
of us at breakfast.” 

“ Pray, why should I not walk with whom I please,” said 
Lotty, “ without asking Mrs. Bankes?” 

“ Bear would not be Flo., and you ” 

“ Bear, Bear, bite him ! ” But he and Bear went off together 
in a frolicsome mood. 

Lotty opened Basil’s present, with some curiosity certainly, 
and much pleasure that he had remembered her. 

She drew forth from the pink cotton in which they were envel- 
oped, a fairy little pair of gold manacles. As she turned them 
round, her eyes were quite dazzled with the splendor of a single 
diamond on each, beneath which was the fastening. So large, 
so brilliant, so perfect in shape and water, almost alone in their 
slight, simple setting, Lotty held them before her in wonder and 
admiration, and as they reflected back her own eyes, she blushed 
at the remembrance of his words. 

“ My eyes, indeed ! who could have thought that Basil would 
have been so foolish as to spend such a fortune as he must have 
done on these diamonds, just because of my eyes? Shall I make 
him take them back? No ; I will tell him he is very silly, and 
I will wear them until there is a Lady Erlscourt, and then she 

shall have them. They will look lovely on All, well ! I 

will say nothing ! ” 


CHAPTER LXIY. 

It was very true that Mrs. Bankes had, unasked, unwished 
for, thrust herself once more into Court Leigh. She was a prey 
to most ungovernable curiosity, as to how matters were going 
on there, since the extraordinary change in all their fates ; and 
25 


290 


MARGARET 


finding that she was likely to receive no positive invitation, with 
an unabashed coolness, she gave herself and her dear Frederick 
an invitation of her own accord. 

Margaret was too amiable, and too well-bred, to turn her 
from her door, as it might be said. And though, in her gentle, 
grief-stricken heart she might fancy that Mrs. Bankes showed 
a great want of delicate feeling in thus thrusting her society 
upon one who must be painfully reminded of all that occurred 
on her former visit, that heart was too well schooled in adversity 
and sorrow to bend before a Mrs. Bankes’s annoyances. So 
there she was settled, as she assured her dear Frederick, in con- 
jugal talk at night, just as if she was at home. “ I knew it 
would be the case, the moment they saw me, 4 out of sight out of 
mind ; ’ moping and pining over their griefs and sorrows, natu- 
rally they would think that no one would like to come and be 
with them. However, they little knew me — I am always ready 
to give my advice and company, where I can see they will be of 
real use, and I shall begin, the first thing in the morning, to look 
about me, and see what I can do ; I shall think it is only my 
duty. Margaret was but a poor thing when we were here 
before, but positively she is a spectre now ; and what caps ! her 
face looks like nothing in them, and only that line of hair. 
Now, my dear Fred., if I am to be so unfortunate as to lose 
you, I should make a point of having a cap of the very first mil- 
liner, in style and everything ; though you may suppose, Fred., 
that a widow’s cap is nothing but a bit of muslin, you are mis- 
taken. Some are made of lawn, with broad sorts of streamers 
down each side, very ugly to look at, and always in the way. 
Some are made of — Why, Fred.! Fred.! — I declare he is 
asleep ; I never saw such a fellow to sleep ; I don’t think he can 
be well, so I must dose him to-morrow ; that snore sounds very 
bilious. However, I will go to sleep myself now, for I have a 
great deal to do to-morrow, looking about me. We have got 
Lady Montagu’s room I find. Well! it is very handsome and 
comfortable, and I am glad to see Margaret *does not neglect her 
mother — some people are so selfish in their sorrow, and it is 
lucky the old lady had gone home for a while, as, perhaps, they 
would have had no room for us, and that would have been a 
pretty kettle of fish, after all my trouble in dragging Fred, 
down. That certainly is a bilious snore.” However, here — 1 
like Mrs. Caudle, of Punch memory — Mrs. Bankes fell asleep, 
and was undrawing her curtains, just as Basil said, on the morn- 
ing of Lotty’g birthday. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


291 


No one appeared at breakfast that morning without a present 
for Lotty, excepting Mr. and Mrs. Bankes, and apparently Lord 
Erlscourt. Young Harold brought a silver chain, with a plate 
and name on it, for Bear, who seemed more surprised than 
pleased with his necklace. The little Lottiua toddled in with 
a small riding-whip of exquisite workmanship and fairy pro- 
portions. 

The two Erie boys, not thinking that money could buy aught 
handsome enough for Mrs. Leigh, had endeavored to make their 
presents valuable from the labor bestowed thereon. 

Therefore one brought her the model of a steam-engine, made 
by himself, at infinite wear and tear of his nerves and temper 
during the process, that it might indeed prove worthy of the 
person on w r hom it was bestowed. And as he had no idea of 
all this trouble being taken for nothing, he had ingeniously made 
his steam-engine the vehicle for holding different scents, all of 
which, by some extraordinary contrivance, came out of the same 
spout, yet remained pure and uncontaminated by each other. 
The other presented her with a collection of eggs of British 
birds, each set of eggs in its own nest, beautifully arranged and 
classified, and encased by himself ; the collection was really 
both valuable and curious. Besides w r hich, they each gave her 
a young Finus deodarus, raised from seed by themselves, and 
which were planted that day with due honor , at High Leigh, 
thereby costing Mrs. Laird a whole bottle of ginger wine, and 
an entire baking of short bread, neither of which she begrudged. 
Mr. and Mrs. Frank’s present was jointly given — a rare and 
costly set of chess-men, seemingly carved solely for the long 
taper nails of the Empress of China. 

44 Ah ! ” sighed Lotty, as she gazed on them, 44 1 shall always 
lose now, when I play with these beautiful chess-men. I shall 
do nothing but admire them, and wonder how they could have 
been so deftly carved.” 

The twins carried in each hand — being themselves each car- 
ried in their turn by a maid — a bunch of violets. And Mar- 
garet covered her Lotty with roses as her present, having given 
secret orders, months before, to have some forced on purpose ; 
and Lotty looked like a little Queen-rose among them. 

44 It is all very well, Lord Erlscourt, giving presents now and 
then,” said Mrs. Bankes, 44 but I see you have made no offering ; 
, neither have I nor dear Frederick — we do not quite, approve of 
such things, because it leads to a sort of jealousy, you know ; one 
does not give as handsome a present as the other. Look now 


292 


MARGARET 


at the difference between Margaret’s roses and the chess-men. 
Lotty had only to wait until summer, and she might smother 
herself in roses. But I suppose the Leigh estates are still much 
embarrassed : I conclude Margaret, could afford no more.” 

“ A rose, Mrs. Bankes, especially out of season, has been 
valued at a much higher price than you seem to think its due.” 

“ Ah ! yes, some of those new roses ; for instance, what sums 
were paid for Geant de Bataille.” 

“And don’t you remember that story of 4 Beauty and the 
Beast ’ ? there, if I mistake not, a rose is valued at a life.” 

“You joke, my lord ; but what is Lotty showing now ? Brace- 
lets ! upon my word, those really now seem a pretty little pres- 
ent ; very tasty and fashionable. Do let me look at them. 
Jupiter Ammon ! my dear, what diamonds ! Fred., Fred., 
come here ; did you ever ! Heavens ! child, they are worth 
millions of money ! Where did you get them ? Who gave 
them to you ? ” 

“ 1 found them this morning.” 

“Found them, my dear! Are you sure they are for you? 
Had you no note?” 

“ Yes ; they were in a parcel directed to me, and this note 
inside.” 

“ Let me see ! let me see ! ” exclaimed Flo. 

to lotty’s eyes. 

I’ve sought in vain to find a gem 

To match those radiant ones of thine. 

Ah ! Lotty, who that looks on them, 

Will deign to cast one glance on mine ? 

’Tis as the glowworm’s feeble light 

To yon bright stars that gem the skies. 

Lotty, my life is as the night ; 

Lighten it, starlike, with thine eyes. 

“ Upon my word, pretty thoughts indeed; ’Tis almost as good 
as an offer of marriage ; and I am sure only a prince of the 
.blood could afford such a present. You are lucky ! my dear.” 

“ If the donor appears and declares that he means what he 
says, ought Mrs. Leigh to accept his offer ? ” asked Lord Erls- 
court. 

“ Of course she ought. She may be sure he must be mon* 
strous rich and generous,” answered Mrs. Bankes. 

“ The donor shall know my mind when he wishes it, and I 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


293 


shall not have much trouble in telling him he is a very great 
goose for his pains.” Thus savagely growled the little Bear, 
with angry, sparkling eyes, and red-rose cheeks. 

Mrs. Bankes’s retort was smothered by the entrance of Mr. 
Grey, the bearer of more presents. An antique brooch from 
Lady Katherine, with a rare pearl in the centre, that lay con- 
scious and blushing at its own beauty ; ^n embroidered sachet de 
mouchoirs from Pru., the work of her own diligent fingers ; and 
from Mr. Grey himself some books on botany. 

* * * * * * 

When all the excitement regarding Lotty’s presents had some- 
what subsided, the ever-busy Florence, looking round to see in 
what manner she could employ herself with satisfaction, was 
delighted to catch sight of Mr. Grey, drawing Lady Leigh con- 
fidentially aside. Humming an indifferent sort of nothing-may- 
care tune, she placed herself, as by chance, sufficiently close 
to hear the interesting communication ; and, we presume, could 
not but be edified thereby. 

“ I am very much obliged to you. Lady Leigh, and trust my 
wishes may not have proved in this instance as running counter 
to my better judgment.” 

u Dear me ! ” said the listener to herself. 

“I am sure of the contrary, John,” said Lady Leigh, “ and 
am glad to do as you Avish, if it Avere only to please myself.” 

u My good gracious ! Avho Avould have thought it?” said the 
listener, almost aloud, in her amazement. 

u They have suffered very severely, through all the winter 
months, for Avant of regular employment, and, really,, with na- 
tures like the Jones’s, so prone to evil, starvation might lead 
them to crime.” 

“ Law ! parish stuff! ” said the disappointed hearer. 

“ I did not think it right to bind them doAvn to any promise, 
but only said they should have constant Avork for a time ; I think 
by this means we shall make their condition so very much better 
that they Avill experience the virtue of gratitude at least ; and if 
they Avork, they cannot be in mischief. But I have one thing to 
propose, Lady Leigh, as binding them yet more strongly to you.” 

“ What is that, John?” 

u If you Avould go sometimes and visit the neAV cottage they 
are to build, as if interested in its erection, and by this means 
get into conversation Avith them, I think, after a time, you 
might propose giving half the money they will earn Aveekly, to 
their wives.” 

25 * 


m 


MARGARET 


“ Bless the man ! ” said the listener ; “ does he think to make 
Lady Leigh entice common masons to do their duty, and to talk 
to them ? ” 

“ Willingly, dear John! I understand exactly what you 
mean,” said Lady Leigh. 

u Dear John ! I suppose then they must be engaged. I shall 
go and question Lotty when they finish.” 

“It seems to me likely, that if you take an interest in these 
unhappy men and their families, they will experience a new and 
delightful feeling. They have been so long the objects of con- 
tempt and opprobrium, kindness, or, at all events, interest in 
them, will awaken better feelings.” 

“ And even supposing your good thought does not succeed, 
John, we shall at least know that we drove them by no unkind- 
ness to greater evil.” 

“ True. To-morrow, I believe, I am to expect you at the 
school. I suppose, in rewarding the children after the exam- 
ination, uniform propriety of conduct is to have greater praise 
than any individual quantity of learning or assiduity. I find 
the little things are much more particular and amiable in their 
manners to each other, since you gave Amy Wilcox, that pale, 
meek child, the first prize for attention to her little sister, and 
that great dunce, Joseph Ewins, for his care of his grandmother. 
And they seem to know that I keep a pretty keen lookout after 
all their delinquencies.” 

“They have not to learn those long Scripture lessons by heart 
now, which is a very good thing,” said Lady Leigh. “ I could 
not bear to hear those holy words gabbled and stumbled over, 
like a common lesson.” 

“ I think it has had a good effect not doing so ; they seem 
much more interested in the Bible now, and really try to under- 
stand it, instead of only repeating the words like empty-headed 
parrots.” 

“ Do you think that poor girl will recover, down at Burn- 
leigh ? ” 

“A great and horrible weight seems taken off her mind. Her 
parents naturally were very much shocked and disgusted, that 
a daughter of theirs should have thus disgraced herself ; and I, 
by no means, wish them to think or act otherwise. Her sin is 
far too common and uncared-for, in this country, for us to deal 
otherwise than strongly by it. Nevertheless, under the heavy 
displeasure of her parents, the unfeeling conduct of her sister, 
whatever promptings of remorse and contrition she had, were 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


295 


being smothered. Miss Rachel luckily found the way into that 
sin-lacjen heart, and once removed from home and country, with 
the power to retrieve her good name, we may hope to c save this 
soul alive.’ ” 

u Such a hope is worth any trial. God bestows on us daily 
opportunities of repentance and amendment. It is fit we do the 
same by our erring fellow-mortals,” answered the gentle Mar- 
garet. 

And now there flushed over John Grey’s face a glow so pecu- 
liar and satisfactory, that Flo. became more intent than ever. 

44 My happy day is fixed,” said he. 

u Yes,” answered Margaret, half smiling, half murmuring, 
14 Easter-Tuesday, dear John ; you will now be identified with 
us, both in weal and woe.” 

“ I must have been so without this happiness. Believe me, 
owing this blessing as I do, solely to you, — for your sacred 
command, ‘Be my mother’s son,’ pointed out that my inclination 
was scarcely more strong than my duty, — the home, the world, 
the love, the welfare of the Leighs, must ever have been mine.” 

44 My goodness me! where is Lotty?” and Mrs. Bankes, in 
her hurry to find her, left the rest of this interesting conversa- 
tion to be heard only by the ears intended for it. 

44 Lotty, Lotty ! what is this I hear?” 

“ I do not know, Flo., as you may have heard what I have 
not.” 

44 O ! you may look as demure as you like,” continued Mrs. 
Bankes, winking violently. 44 None so deaf as those who won’t 
hear.” 

44 Not having heard yet, I presume you have no reference to 
me,” answered Lotty. 

44 Then, my dear, since you are so discreet, allow me to ask 
how long Mr. Grey has been such a prodigious favorite here ? ” 

44 Ever since he came, Flo.” 

44 Dear me ! Well, I must say, I should not have thought it. 
Margaret seemed to me as if she would have been constant for 
two years at least. Now with you, my dear Lotty, if you had 
married the next month, I should have thought it no more than 
your duty.” 

44 What a pity it is I can get no one to have me ! ” 

44 O, but you may, my dear — don’t despair; and you with 
such a good jointure, too. There is a cousin of mine ” 

“What! the red-haired one — no, I thank you; I’ll endure 
my lonely state as well as I can, rather than that.” 


296 


MARGARET 


Well, my dear, that is according to taste. Everybody says 
he is very like Fred. ; and when one comes to think whgt you 
endured from that dark, gloomy man — ah ! my dear, they say 
such things of him ” 

u Then they who say, seem indifferent to truth.” 

“ Come, Lotty, don’t be angry with your old schoolfellow and 
friend. I know he behaved very ill to you ; come, now, tell me 
all about it.” 

“ You seem better informed than I am.” 

“ Then, my dear, I’ll just tell you all I heard, and you will be 
able to assure me if it’s true.” 

“ You had better make no remarks upon Philip Leigh before 
Bear, unless they are strictly true. Come here, Bear. What do 
you do when people tell fibs ? ” 

Bear made such an exhibition of frantic rage that Mrs. Bankes 
fled in a panic. 

****** 

The banquet, as Mrs. Laird persisted in calling it, was superb. 
Margaret did not appear in such large parties at the head of her 
table, but was seated at the side, by her dear Lotty. Lady Kathe- 
rine presided, with John Grey as vice-president. The gcntlo 
Pru. was undergoing a course of teasing from the Erie boys, on 
the subject of love and lovers, and she must not eat that, nor 
partake of the other, or touch anything inflammable, which 
amused Mrs. Bankes greatly ; and she said to herself, “ Poor 
old thing ! I should not wonder but she thinks them in ear- 
nest.” 

John, however, guarded his Pru. so well, she became quite 
merry and lively, with all their fun. 

So Mrs. Bankes again said to herself, — 

u Bless the old thing ! She will be thinking that man in love 
with her.” 

The children appeared with the fruit before the ladies had 
retired. The beautiful young Harold drew towards his mother, 
with all his loving heart in his eyes ; while the little rosy, 
blooming Lottina made such a noise on her godmother’s knee, 
they were very nearly both being sent to bed. The little quiet 
twins looked on with awe and wonder at this noise ; their fair 
little faces, and upright, stiff little figures, making them appear 
as miniatures of Pru. and Pro. But Mr. Frank lost himself in 
a sea of admiration at their loveliness ; and all the Beauvillians 
declared, though they were unlike “ the girl,” the original girl, 
/they were quite gems of girls. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


297 


After dinner, Mrs. Bankes having been conjecturing how an 
ordinary sort of man, whose wig got pushed all on one side 
from excitement, had been admitted, together with his wife, 
"who spoke the broadest Scotch, and was always speaking too, 
seated herself beside the offending person, to find out what she 
could about her. 

“ That is'a very handsome dress, ma’am,” began Mrs. Bankes. 

“ Yer welcome to admire it,” said Mrs. Laird, getting all her 
armor ready. She had seen quite enough of Mrs. Bankes at 
dinner to determine how to act. 

“ So you know me. I am not so fortunate as to surmise who 
you are.” 

“ I am Mistress Laird, the doctor's wife, and we live at High 
Leigh ; and I was born a Macullam ; and I bought my dress in 
Glasgaw ; and the price of it, and the length on it, is down i’ 
the bill.” 

“Really, Mrs. Laird, 5 you must not suppose that I am of a 
prying, meddling disposition. No one was ever so free from 
such vices.” 

“ Mistress Bankes, I am glad to hear it.” 

“ I hope you will allow me to admire your cap, without 
thinking I wish to know all the particulars thereof.” 

Not that Mrs. Bankes really admired either cap or dress, for 
the latter was of a striking tartan, and, being satin in texture, 
shone out with unblushing glory ; while the lace cap might have 
been pretty, had it not been favored with bows of a peculiar 
make, size, and color, that gave Mrs. Laird’s marked Scotch 
features the appearance of being newly done up to sit for a sign- 
board of blessed Queen Anne. But she thought admiration a 
notable way of learning a person’s weak points. 

“ I hae no objection, ma’am, to tell ye that the cap was a 
present from one o’ Mrs. Leigh’s uncles, so I am no like to ken 
the price.” 

“ But how did you know him? ” 

“ Ay, that’s it ; that maks a’ the differ, as the doctor says, 
when a patient’s mending or worsing.” 

“ O ! there is a mystery about it, is there?” 

“ May be there is, and may be there isn’t.” 

“ Are you the lady who was kind to Mrs. Leigh, when her 
brute of a husband behaved so ill to her ? ” 

“ The Lord save us ! — and is that the way to speak o’ a puir 
dead mon, who ne’er hurted ye? Eh, Mistress Bankes ! div ye 
no fear a curse on ye ? ” 


298 


MARGARET 


“ I am not at all superstitious, I can assure you. I always 
speak of people as I find them.” 

“ Then if you was to the fore, there’s nae need for me to tell 
ma news.” 

“ But if you have any news, I shall be very glad to hear it, 
for I am so much interested about dear little Lotty, that, though 
I never make or meddle in other people’s matters, it is a point 
with me to enter into all her concerns.” 

“ Very ceevil, I am sure. Ye hae nae family o’ yer own, may 
be?” 

“ No ; but why ask that?” 

“ When a body has naething to entertain them at harne, they 
are aye rinning after ither folks’ matters. I find it mysel’ ; but 
then, ye see, I hae a fine, sensible mon to ma husband, and 
your little mon, he seems aye very sweet o’ the platter and jug ; 
but I am misdoubting ye are his master.” 

Pocketing the insult to her dear Fred., on account of the 
implied compliment to her own sense, Mrs. Bankes got interested 
in a further debate. 

“ And about Philip Leigh?” 

“ What aboun a dead man?” 

“ I have heard it said that he behaved very ill indeed to his 
wife.” 

u Ech me, what one hears nooadays ! ” 

u Then it’s not true?” 

u Iiae ye axed Mrs. Leigh? ” 

“Yes, I have ; but she won’t say anything.” 

“ And she wunna tell ye naething?” 

“No, not a word, though I am dying of curiosity, and shall 
be most thankful to you if you will give me every information in 
your power.” 

“ What for, Mistress Bankes?” 

“ O ! for no particular reason. I shall, of course, tell no one ; 
but, having my own suspicions, I shall be delighted to find I was 
correct.” 

“ And what do ye ca’ unkind? ” 

“ Why, scolding her. I have heard he beat her, and gambled 
away his money, and all sorts of things.” 

“ Weel, Mistress Bankes, they lived at our house ganging on 
for sax weeks, and during a’ that time he never said a cross 
word till her ; but he loved the air she stood in, the chair she 
sat in, the cup she touched, and he died in her arms at last, say- 
ing he was happy to gang that way.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


299 


u Dear, how odd ! I concluded it was so different. But here 
are the gentlemen. Are you not shocked, Mrs. Laird, to see 
how dreadfully Lady Leigh flirts with Mr. Grey?” 
u What div ye think ’ill come on it?” 

“ I suppose she’ll marry him ; and her husband, that she 
idolized so, hardly dead a year.” 

u I hae reason to think she wunna.” 

“ Why, why? have you seen or heard anything?” 

“ Ay ; I hae seen him walking with Miss Leigh, and I hae 
heard Lady Katherine give .them the blessing as man and wife.” 

u O, nonsense ! I’ll never believe it ! You are mistaken ! 
You don’t know what I overheard this morning. Lady Leigh 
called him 1 dear John ’ — she spoke about a cottage — and what 
was that but love in a cottage ? ” 

“ Weel, weel ; hae it yer,ain way. May be ye’ll lend me yer 
little mon to run awa’ wi’ next. Never fear, but ye shall hae 
him back, wrapped in a cambric handkercher.” 

Mrs. Bankes left Mrs. Laird’s side, with an uncomfortable 
feeling that she had not had the last word. 

u Very strange woman that, my dear Lotty. I am surprised 
Margaret asked her to meet such company.” 
u Margaret did not ask her — I did.” 

“ I don’t think, then, my dear, you acted with the judgment 
I really thought you possessed, under all your childish ways. 
Besides being very much out of place in her outre dress and cap, 
she talks such broad Scotch, and has no idea of right and wrong. 

I convicted her in such a fib ” 

u A fib ! ” said Lotty. 

“ Yes, my dear. She told me just as coolly as if I was a bit 
of cucumber and she the vinegar, that Mr. Grey was going to 
be married to Miss Leigh. God bless the man that gets her ! 
say I, for she is the most regular old maid I ever saw. Little 
did Mrs. Laird know what I overheard this morning between 
Mr. Grey and Margaret. Quite by accident, I heard them set- 
tling their plans, and she called him 4 my John.’ I must say I 
never would have believed it of Margaret — never ! ” 

“ I don’t see why you need believe it now, Flo.” 

“ Ah, my dear, you are an innocent, well-meaning girl, and 
without saying much, I dare say you feel a great deal. And 1 
am certain you would never pay your husband so bad a compli- 
ment as to be ready to jump down the throat of the first man 
that offered.” 

u I should say it was a compliment to my first husband, and 
showed I was anxious to be as happy again as he made me.” 


300 


MARGARET 


“ Pooh, child ! you must not joke on such serious subjects. 
You are under my care and advice, and well it is for you that 
you are ; for with this frightful example of Margaret’s before 
you, with all her ridiculous show — here are the gentlemen, so 
no more. My gracious ! how red Fred, is in the face — I hope 
he has not been taking too much wine. How handsome Lord 
Erlscourt is ! — really — I suppose that’s what makes Fred, look 
rather, that is, not quite so handsome as usual. What a beauti- 
ful smile he has ! Ah, my dear ! if Margaret had now only fallen 
in love with him, instead of that humdrum clergyman, we must 
have made allowances for her. He bends over her chair so 
gracefully.” 

“ The humdrum ” 

“ No, you stupid thing ! and she has quite brightened up with 
some lively remark he has made. Ah ! Margaret, too late 
you’ll discover what a goose you have been. I see such a dis- 
tressing state of things for the future.” 

“ ‘ Let not ills that never hap, chiefly make thee wretched,’ 
saith Tupper.” 

“ My dear, nonsense with your Tupper ! I never make nor — 
Ah ! here is Lord Erlscourt looking my way ; yes, he is coming 
towards us ; so, Lotty, dear, if you have auything to say to any 
one, pray don’t think it necessary to remain and entertain me.” 

“ I can assure you, Flo., the entertainment is all on the other 
side.” 

“ Well, people do say I am the most agreeable woman they 
ever met, and I am sure I don’t know why it is so, for I never 
entertain company at other people’s expense — but go, my dear, 
here he is.” 

Mrs. Bankes was thinking so much of how she should bring 
to bear the full battery of all her agreeable powers upon Lord 
Erlscourt, that she did not perceive his look of disappointment 
at Lotty’s retreat. How he shook his head deprecatingly at her, 
and how Lotty laughed back a laugh of spiteful amusement, at 
his being caught in the clutches of Mrs. Bankes ! Determining 
to cut it as short as possible, he set himself to submit with as 
good a grace as he could. 

“Well, my Lord, I am so delighted you have come, because 
I feel a little out of place here, and you being in the same situa- 
tion, we can comfort each other.” 

“ I feel remarkably happy, thank you, Mrs. Bankes, and do 
not feel at all as if I was in the way.” 

“ Of course, my lord, I do not mean in the way, but they are 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


301 


all so nearly related and connected with each other, that we seem 
the only two strangers.” 

u I could not have supposed a person so amiable as Mrs. 
Bankes, had forgotten the existence of Mr. Bankes.” 

“ O ! of course I included Fred. ; but you see there is that 
Mr. Grey going to become one of the family.” 

“ True.” 

“ O ! then you have been told ; otherwise I was going to men- 
tion to you a little circumstance I heard this morning quite by 
accident. They were talking in the window, and she called him 
her beloved John, and they talked about settlements.” 

“ They seem to have had an eye to business as well as love, 
Mrs. Bankes.” 

“ Ah ! yes, that is generally the case with widows.” 

“ Widows ! ” exclaimed Lord Erlscourt. 

u Yes, of course, are we not talking of Lady Leigh and Mr. 
Grey ? ” 

“ O ! we are, are we? have you congratulated her yet? I 
think she would only consider it kind of an old schoolfellow ; 
and if you will excuse me while you perform this friendly matter, 
I wish to tell Mrs. Leigh that I think Dr. Laird must have given 
her those bracelets.” 

“ I dare say he did, and they are nothing but Scotch diamonds 
after all.” 

“ Paste, I should say, Mrs. Banks.” 

“ No doubt, just like a doctor’s taste.” 

“Basil, where have you sent Mrs. Bankes?” said Lotty, as 
he passed on to her. 

“ I know where I should like to send her,” said Basil ; “ but 
at present I have despatched her to congratulate Margaret upon 
her intended nuptials with Mr. Grey.” 

“ O Basil ! how could you be so mischievous?” 

“ Not at all ; Margaret’s answer will rebuke her more than 
anything we can say. Ha ! Lotty, look, she has begun ; see 
Margaret’s face, first astonishment, then calm, dignified con- 
tempt. With what queenlike grace she rises and touches John 
Grey’s arm ! I will stake the next kiss you give me, that ” 

“ Don’t stake what you have not, Basil.” 

“ That Margaret has not answered her a word, but has taken 
John Grey up to introduce him, and said, 4 Mrs. Bankes wishes 
to offer you her congratulations on your intended marriage with 
Miss Leigh.’ Don’t you perceive how mortified she looks, 
Lotty?” 


26 


302 


MARGARET 


44 Don’t you think Lord Erlscourt is very rude to me, Mrs. 
Laird?” said Lotty, falling back to the shelter of the brilliant 
plaid satin dress. 

41 To luik at his een, my bairn, I see pratty much what a’ on 
us feel, and that’s nae rudeness.” 

44 Quite true, Mrs. Laird ; I never can persuade Lotty that it 
is all love on my part,” said Lord Erlscourt. 

Mrs. Laird turned upon him the full battery of her shrewd 
Scotch eyes ; then, as if the scrutiny was satisfactory, she 
placed her hand fondly on Lotty, saying 4k May ye niver hae 
mail* rudeness than my laird’s, my bairn.” 

k4 If you take his side, I leave you,” answered Lotty, crossing 
over to Rachel Clare. 

44 Weel, my laird, I am thinking, like us a’, yer aye fond of 
that bonny bairn.” 

44 4 Fond’ is not quite the proper expression for me, Mrs. 
Laird. Some of these days I’ll prove my real opinion of her. 
But, alas ! Mrs. Bankes seems returning.” 

44 Ech ! my word, what a daft body thou is.” 

44 You and my brothers agree.” 

44 Aye, but I am glad I’m in sich company. Them’s twa 
grand boys, and I’ll gang and hae a clack wi’ em, about yon 
fulish body, just to ease my mind.” 

44 May I come some morning, and sit with you? Believe me 
actuated by no unworthy motive,., if I question you about poor 
Philip Leigh.” 

44 Deed wunnot I. The doctor and me will be aye glad to let 
on till a friend abune him, and a’ that little angel thing suffered. 
For she wull never tell, and naebody kens a’ I kens about the 
bonny thing. She’s joost made of the Almighty’s best handy- 
work. But here’s tlion daft body.” 

44 My lord, how could you ” began Mrs. Bankes. 

44 1 beg your pardon — pray excuse me — -Lady Leigh calls 
me,” answered Basil, hastily departing. 

44 Mrs. Laird, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, to deceive 
me thus,” said Flo. to her. 

44 My guid woman, shame and Janet Laird never sat together 
yet. Tak yer ain blame on yer ain head, or may be’s I’ll get 
my doctor to gie ye his mind.” 

44 Good woman, indeed ! ” 

44 Hey ! may be I mistook there ; ” and Mrs. Laird moved off, 
grimly smiling at her own wit. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


• 303 


CHAPTER LXV. 

u I wish, Basil/’ said Lotty, as she met him, when returning 
on the morrow from her morning’s walk, “ you would take back 
those diamonds ; they ought to be heirlooms, or something of 
that sort.” 

u So I mean them to be,” said Basil ; u but don’t plume your- 
self upon thinking they are diamonds — Mrs. Bankes says they 
are paste.” 

“ She is very angry with me about John Grey, and said I wil- 
fully deceived her, Basil ; and that you also are a victim to my 
mischievous temper.” 

u I am a victim to you, Lotty, but not in that way.” 

“ I am not in any humor for nonsense, Basil, so pray talk 
common sense. One would suppose you were one of the boys. 
And how happens it that you have taken such a restless turn ? 
I never knew you take these early walks before.” 

u That shows how little you are interested in my movements 
— for I always take early walks ; but lately you seem continu- 
ally to have stumbled on my path.” 

u Why do you not ask the servants which road I take?” 

“So I do, Lotty.” 

“ Then, Basil, you follow me on purpose.” 

“ Without any doubt. Do you dislike my company?” 

“No, not at all ; but you should be Basil, not a ” 

“ Not a fool, Lotty.” 

“ I did not say so ; but, come now, will you take those 
bracelets back ? ” 

“No, certainly not.” 

“ Then I will wear them on one condition, that when there is 
a young Lady Erlscourt, I may present them to her.” 

“ That depends upon what sort of arm she has. She may 
weigh twenty stone, Lotty.” 

“ That you may be certain she will not do, Basil ; but why 
did you have them made so small ? ” 

“ To fit this tiny wrist,” answered Basil, taking her hand in his. 

“ It is very easy to have more links added, if she should 
weigh twenty stone,” said Lotty, withdrawing it. 

“ I agree with you, that she will not weigh so much — more 
likely twenty pounds ; so I close with your proposal.” 


304 


MARGARET 


“ Thank you, Basil ; now I shall wear them in peace and 
comfort, just as if they were my own.” 

“ Long may you continue to think they are your own, Lotty.” 

“ Nay, Basil, not so. I do not know of any one who ought 
to have a perfect wife so much as you.” 

“ I quite agree, Lotty. But will a perfect wife, such as 
I want, have me?” 

“ Ah, Basil, you are, indeed, very strange : knowing as you 
must know what I know, how can you be so ambiguous and 
foolish?” 

“ Ah, Bear, come here, and resolve me of this sentence : 

1 knowing as you must know what I know/ and I asked a 
straightforward question, Bear ; who is most ambiguous, old 
fellow ? ” 

“ Then, Basil, Margaret. Doeg she not look almost like her 
old self? Now that poor Harold’s name is cleared, thanks to 
your exertions, she seems to have given him calmly up to God, 
and is only bent on fulfilling his earthly duties.” 

u Lotty, Margaret has realized every hope 1 had entertained 
of her character. And, perhaps, had she not had these trials, 
we should not have seen the full beauty and strength of it. She 
has risen superior to even the idol that I had formed of her in 
my heart, when I loved her so madly.” 

“ Loved her, Basil ! Do you not love her now? ” 

“ Yes, as the angels love.” 

“ Wherefore thus, Basil ? Are not her trials over ? Will you 
not guard her future life ? Will you not make amends to her 
for all she has endured ? ” 

u Yes, Lotty, as a brother.” 

“ No more, Basil?” 

“ No, Lotty, I cannot.” 

Then farewell to my last scheme of match-making. Yet, 
why is it so, Basil? she is more worthy of your love than 
before.” 

“ Granted, Lotty, doubly granted. But we men, calling our- a 
selves your superiors in all things, must bow the knee before the 
true and constant afiection of a woman’s heart. I am faithless ; 

I almost think I love another.” 

“ Then I shall hate that other, Basil.” 

“ Hate her as much as you please, Lotty, provided she makes 
me happy.” 

“ Y>u are selfish, Basil.- Like Flo., 1 will neither make nor 
meddle in your matters.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


305 


“ Nay, Lotty, grant me your best wishes, at all events ; for 
the heart I wish to win is so pure, so true, so noble, that did it 
not love me with all its powers, I know I should be rejected on 
the spot.” 

“ Then take my best wishes, since she seems so worthy of 
you ; but, for goodness’ sake ! let me hear no more of the matter.” 

“ Lotty, do not be angry. Come, we will talk of something 
else. I like your Mrs. Laird very much. She told me long 
stories about you.” 

“ She might have employed her time better.” 

“ Lotty, you must have suffered much.” 

44 I suffer nothing now.” 

44 When I loved you so, Lotty, as the fearless, warm-hearted 
child, I did not think you were something much beyond ; a les- 
son to us all, an example in every way.” 

“ Good-by ! ” said Lotty ; 44 you take me for a baby still, 
I see.” 

She ran away ; and Basil went to join his brothers, who 
were at a little distance, practising jumping over a leaping-bar. 

44 We would not come and disturb you, Basil, because you 
were walking with Mrs. Leigh,” said Brian. 

44 And why did that prevent you? I thought she was such a 
favorite of yours.” 

44 So she is,” said both the boys ; 44 but as we said to each 
other, when we saw you, if we walked alone with Mrs. Leigh, 
we should certainly tell her how much we loved her, so we 
thought you could not help doing so also.” 

44 You are quite right ; I did.” 

44 And what did she say? 0 ! Basil, did she say she would 
marry you — be our sister ? I’ll kiss her every day then.” 

44 Stop, stop, boys ; not so fast. I may not allow that.” 

44 Once a week then, dear Basil.” 

44 Well, perhaps once a week I may ; but there is one great 
impediment. She would not hear me — she ran away, as you 
. saw just now.” 

The two boys groaned. And all breakfast-time they sat 
sorrowful and silent, and ate very little, which was not at all 
their usual custom. 

In vain Mrs. Bankes cheered them up, in her usual rather 
vulgar style, by affectionate slaps on the back, and incessant 
friendly winks ; they remained plunged in deep sorrow, and 
never looked at Lotty without further sighs. So Mrs. Bankes 
began to foresee various strange things, and opened her eyes 
26 * 


306 


MARGARET 


accordingly. Before breakfast was finished, she had come to 
the conclusion that both the Erie boys, not being so much 
younger than Lotty, were deeply in love with her, and that they 
would probably have a deadly quarrel ; and that Lord Erlscourt 
was making up to Lady Leigh himself. He had put two pats 
of butter on her plate unknowingly, and twice slipped out the 
word “ Margaret.” She would take the earliest opportunity of 
informing Lotty of this state of affairs. 


CHAPTER LX VI. 

“ So, Lotty, I see which way the wind lies ; you and Mar- 
garet will be sisters after all,” said Mrs. Bankes. 

u You are very kind to manage it so, Flo.” 

“ Not at all ; I live for nothing so much as to oblige my friends. 
Unlike Carry By-the-bye, have you seen her lately ? ” 

u Yes, last summer.” 

u Then, my dear, you know she has two more babies, each 
paler and more frightful than the first ; and if I thought her baby- 
mad before, she now ought to be made principal nurse to an 
infant school. Upon my word, I never see her without thinking 
of a basin of pap.” 

“ She used to be very pretty.” 

u Pretty ! yes; but such a slattern. She thinks of nothing 
but those children ; and would you believe it, Mr. Royston made 
her a present of a gray Moire (she really went about not fit to 
be seen), and she exchanged it, my dear, for three little drab- 
colored pelisses, embroidered in sky-blue silk. And you may 
think, with her weak babies, what they were like, in a week. 
Such a love of a gray ! silver gray. I helped to choose it : ten 
shillings and sixpence a yard, my dear.” 

“ I suppose she has a right to do as she pleases.” 

“ Not at all, Lotty ; that is a very mistaken notion of yours. 
People should always remember their friends, under any circum- 
stances. It is quite a point with me to do so ; and that is why 
I interest myself so much about you. Now mark my words, and 
be careful of those Erie boys. One is a boy no longer, and he 
will be getting your name compromised. Widows should be so 
particular, twice as much so as single women, and that is why I 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


307 


wish you to warn Margaret. It really is not right having Lord 
Erlscourt always in her house, and consulting him on every 
occasion.” 

“ O ! now you think she is going to marry him ; last night it 
was Mr. Grey.” 

“ I can never forgive you, Lotty, about that. I shall never 
forget Lord Erlscourt’ s look when I first told him ; really, the 
muscles about his mouth quivered and shook, until I thought he 
would go and knock Mr. Grey down. No wonder, poor man ! 
Now I see which way the wind blows. By-the-by, what un- 
lucky person was it who hooked that poor Mr. Grey in (really 
he is a very nice, agreeable man ; Fred, says' sensible enough, 
though a little too religious for him) to marry that poor old 
thing ? ” 

“ Did no one tell you, Flo., it was an old affair, begun ten 
years ago ? ” 

“ Law ! so that’s it. Well, to return to Margaret ; of course 
she will not be such a fool as to refuse Lord Erlscourt.” 

u I never asked her, and I don’t suppose he has,” said Lotty. 

“ Well, my dear, he is going to ; of that I am positive. He 
gave her three pats of butter, one after another, and called her 
his dearest Margaret ! ” 

“ Great symptoms, Flo.” 

u Pooh, child ! you will never get older or wiser, as long as 
you live, such pains as I take with you too. But remember my 
advice in this instance ; don’t associate too much with that old 
Scotchwoman — she will be doing you a mischief some day, 
with her gossiping tongue.” 

“ Much obliged, mem ; I’ll aye trust that ye will be to the 
fore, to help the young leddy out on it.” 

“ Dear me ! I had no idea you were so near. However, I 
never say anything of which I am ashamed, so I cannot apolo- 
gize.” 

“ Deed, mem, for a’ Janet Laird cares, ye may keep your 
apologees to yoursel’. I wad think ill o’ mysel * if ye could say 
aught to fret me. Gang yer ways, guid body, the world is wide 
enough for us twa, wi’out me fashing mysel’ to rub agin you.” 

“ Vulgar old woman ! ” muttered Mrs. Bankes, walking off. 

“ My bairn, I am wanting your company on a bit business o’ 
Mr. Grey’s. There is a misguided set o’ young things doon i’ 
them cottages by the burn, and he thinks if we wad just luik 
after them a bit, they might get righted. We are no to flite 
’em with owre much guid talk, which, aye me, for weak human 


303 


MARGARET 


nature, gaes a puir misguided body sit up their prood backs ; 
but when we hae gettin’ round ’em, we maun then tell him. 
They are yure hooses, my bairn, and they aye think a deal o’ 
the little fairy mistress. The Lord forgie us ! thinking so mickle 
on ye, bairn.” 

“ The Lord forgive me, if I do not prove both grateful and 
deserving,” answered Lotty, gravely. “ But I am ready.” 

Ay, my bairn,” continued Mrs. Laird, as they pursued 
their way. u When I think o’ the first time I catched a glint 
o’ your little child face, I could a’most beat myself for thinking 
of what I thought ; and says the doctor to me, ‘ I always 
kenned she was something abuve the common.’ Ay, but thon’s 
a man, that my lord.” 

u He does not think himself a woman, I dare say, Mrs7 
Laird.” 

“ Hoot, bairn ! do ye ken ho' has asked the doctor and me 
to visit him, when yc arc a’ wi’ my Lady Montagu? ” 

u I am very glad of it,” said Lotty. 

“ And he is no married, bairn ! ” 

“ No, not yet, Mrs. Laird ; but I hope he will soon.” 

“ And who to, child?” 

“ Why, you are Mrs. Bankes over again. I shall gratify no 
such curiosity, except to tell you, once he was very much in 
love, and upon the lady’s marrying, he almost died of grief. 
But she is not married now ; her husband is dead.” 

“ And you think he will marry her, my bairn? ” 

u I hope so,” said Lotty, as she switched off the head of a 
great thistle with a little stick. 

“ Bairn, ye dinna look pleased.” 

“ I tiiink I am in a bad humor some how, Mrs. Laird. I think 
Mrs. Bankes teases me.” 

“ Ay, a body like that is aye a lighted candle stuck in a barrel 
of poodre ; I’ll hae to gie her my mind afore she leaves ; I 
canua, as Mr. Grey says, laugh an ill word aff. So, my laird’s 
ganging this summer aff to Holland, is lie?” 

“ Yes, we have heard some more particulars about the skip, 
and he does not think Lady Leigh will be quite happy, until he 
has seen the wreck himself — at least, what is left of her.” 

“ A feckless errand, my bairn, but I wad na be the person to 
deny my Leddy Leigh aught she asked. I wad think I was hin- 
dering ane of the Lord’s chosen. And wi’ a’ her saintly luiks, 
the doctor tells me she is aye the best hand at business he ever 
lighted on ; and a’ tell the same thing. She has getten the 
estates most righted, they tell me.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


309 


“Yes, and of late a large sum has been paid into the bank 
from Australia, and it is supposed Mr. Price, the agent that 
went off with so much money, has repented, and returned some 
to her, or else he lias made his fortune at the gold disfirina's, and 

O OO O 7 

has become an honest man.” 

“ Weel, I wish him weel on wi* repentance and amendment. 
So noo, bairn, here is the house, and ye maun just pit on ycr bit 
sweetest ways, to beguile they puir bodies to their guid.” 
****** 

“My dear Lot’y ! ” said Mr. Bankes, meeting her on her 
return home, “ what do you think? ” 

Mrs. Bankes’s eager, excited, worldly face, did not look to 
advantage by that of Lotty ; for an elevated feeling made her 
eyes shine with the holy light of a pure star. She had not 
labored in vain on the errand she had been with Mrs. Laird. 
And the touching homage that the rough, wild people of the 
hamlet had paid her innocent youth and beauty, and gentle 
words, had greatly affected her. She was deep in thought, as to 
the cause that made some natures so repel the good that waited 
but to find a way into their hearts ; while others seemed to cull 
pure and holy lessons from even the depth of misery and degra- 
dation into which they had fallen. 

She was thinking over one speech that had been said to her : 
“ I would like to please Mr. Grey, if I could, he is so heart- 
some.” And she had returned for answer : “ Mr. Grey seems 
to wish that everybody should be as happy as himself.” 

“ Ay, deed, does he,” answered the man. “ And I’d like to 
know his way, weel ; he is a kindly body, and shakes hands as 
if one was just of his own sort. But I don’t know Low I’ll ever 
look i’ the face of mankind with such like clear eyes.” 

“ He loves the good God for giving him so many blessings, 
for so fair a world to live in, so many opportunites of doing 
good',” answered Lotty. 

“ I am bound to say, he does nae try it owre strong upon us. 
I am weary o’ hearing I’m sich a lost sinner. I’d like to hear 
how I can get oot of this pit o’ wickedness, into which I never 
pit myself.” 

“ Mr. Grey told us that last Sunday in church, and promised 
to go on with it next Sunday.” 

“ Then I think I’ll be going there ; I wish to oblige him, he 
is heartsome and civil like.” 

“ Very well,” said Lotty. “ Come ; and as I go into church, 
I shall just look to see if you are there, and give you a nod.” 


310 


MARGARET 


“ I’ll take it very kind of ye, madam, for I’ll feel myself a 
stranger, no doubt.” 

So Lotty was pondering over the rights and the wrongs of 
beguiling this man to church, through the instrumentality of lik- 
ing for a fellow-mortal rather than a purer motive, love for 
God ; and having happily settled in her own mind that it was a 
good thing to have got him to promise to come to church at all, 
here face was full of pure, happy feelings, when she met Mrs. 
Bankes with hers full of life’s bustle. 

“ I think it is rather chilly this evening, Flo.,” said Lotty, in 
answer to her question. 

“ Nonsense ! child ; he has proposed, actually and absolutely 
proposed this afternoon, and been accepted.” 

For a moment a quick, glowing blush crimsoned Lotty’s face, 
and as it died away, left her apparently, from the contrast, per- 
fectly pale ; but she answered without a shade of difference in 
her voice, without even a tone of astonishment, — 

“You are, speaking of Lord Erlscourt and Lady Leigh.” 

“ Yes, my dear, they little knew that I was hidden behind the 
curtain, and saw the whole scene : and he kissed her hand ! 

0 ! my dear, with such fervency, it was quite touching, and I 
could not help longing to see Fred, in just the same graceful 
attitude.” 

“ Are you sure you have made no mistake, Flo.?” 

“ Me ! my dear ; me make a mistake ! no I thank you. I am 
very grateful to the Almighty for my full share of wits, and per- 
haps a little over. I don’t mean to say I overheard every word, 
because that Tyould have been very dishonorable on my part — 
in fact, such an act would have been quite beneath me ; but 
when Margaret clasped her hands with delight, and leaned upon 
my lord’s shoulder with her handkerchief to her eyes, what could 

1 think of that, my dear ? ” 

“ That was a very natural action, if Basil had been*doing 
what he often has done, acting a brother’s part by her, and 
promising her his help in something she may have set her heart 
on.” 

“ Pooh, pooh ! my dear ! don’t chatter on in that foolish way. 
I heard — I could not help it — I heard her say, quite loud, in 
consequence of her energetic feelings, — ‘ Ah ! Basil, I wanted 
but this to make my future life happy; I shall then see the 
world and all around me in a very different light to what I.have 
done for the last eighteen months.’ And then, my dear, her 
voice dropped, he kissed her hand, and it was, without excep- 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


811 


tion, tl\e most moving scene I ever witnessed. I slipped away 
through the open study door, and have been running in every 
direction in search of you. Now, really, Margaret has proved 
herself worthy of the fond interest I have ever shown her, and I 
hope, poor tiling ! my Lord will make amends to her for the sad 
life she led \vith Sir Harold. But now, my dear Lotty, that is 
not the half of what I have to say to you ; of course you will be 
turned out of your snug quarters here, and as you cannot return 
to your own home with those vulgar Scotch people in it, I have 
thought of a capital scheme. You shall come and live with 
Fred, and me ; Fred, is very fond of you,- and you would with 
us, my dear, have cheerful and congenial society, and I will 
make a point of introducing you everywhere, and with your 
pretty, youthful style of beauty, and your peculiar dress, and 
doubling the real amount of your jointure, I make no doubt you 
will make a capital match, some how.” 

“ To which I shall certainly forbid the banns, Mrs. Bankes,” 
said Lord Erlscourt. 

“ O, law ! my Lord, how you do startle one. What on earth 
sent you here ? ” 

“ I came in search of the same person as you did, therefore 
no wonder we met.” 

“ I hope, my Lord, you overheard nothing.” 

“ I heard quite sufficient for me to tell you, Mrs. Bankes, 
that take the whole population, including Mr. Bankes, double 
them all, extract from each every good they possess, and bestow 
it upon one man, still, in my eyes, he would not be worthy of 
Mrs. Leigh.” 

“ I quite agree with you, my Lord ; Lotty has always been a 
great favorite of mine.” 

u Good-by to you both,” exclaimed Lotty ; “ if you have no 
better subject for your conversation than my unworthy self, ex- 
cuse my remaining.” 

Lotty and Bear departed together. 

“ May I ask, Mrs. Bankes, what you have been telling Mrs. 
Leigh, in addition to the charming scheme for her future fate ? ” 

“ Nothing, I assure you ; nothing at all.” 

“What!” continued Basil, smiling; “nothing to tell, after 
being behind a curtain? No, no, Mrs. Bankes, I have not so 
poor an opinion of you.” 

“ Indeed, my Lord ; on my honor, I made my escape as soon 
as ever I discovered what a very private conversation I was 

overhearing.” 


312 


MARGARET 


“ But you heard enough to inform Mrs. Leigh of an important 
fact ” 

u "Why, yes, you know, how could I mistake, my Lord?” 

“ That I offered my hand to Lady Leigh, and she accepted?” 

“Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, . my Lord. I 
always thought Margaret much more suited to you than Sir 
Harold. Lucky woman as she is, to have got rid of him so 
easily.” 

“ Judging of her by yourself, I presume. Poor Mr. Bankes ! 
But pray excuse me, you have omitted such a very important 
part of the news to Mrs. Leigh, I must overtake her, for the 
purpose of imparting it.” 

u O ! pray tell me first, my Lord ; I will be sure to tell Lotty. 
— Ah, well ! he is gone. Certainly, he is the handsomest man ; 
if I had seen him before Fred., now there’s no saying. How- 
ever, that is neither here nor -there. I wonder what made him 
laugh so, as he went away ! I doubt he is satirical ; if so, poor 
Margaret is in for it again. A satirical husband always ends 
in sneering at his wife. I should like to see Fred, indulging in 
so much as a smile at my expense ! "Well, so really this affair 
is settled, and I have no one with whom to talk the matter over. 
I am disgusted with Margaret, I must allow, making such a 
fuss about her first husbaud, and only waiting a month or two 
over the year to accept another with gratitude, if you please. 
But this is a brilliant plan of mine about Lotty. She is sure to 
pay handsomely for her board,' and is really a very striking-look- 
ing person though she is so little ; and I don’t tell her of it, because 
she may grow conceited. Her money will help Fred, and me 
well over the midsummer bills ; and I shall become quite the 
fashion, with such a pretty, rich widow in my house.” 


CHAPTER LX V 1 1 . 

Flo. pursued the tenor of these thoughts ; and in discoursing 
them over with Fred., she was very nearly late for dinner. But 
others were later still. Though the last bell had rung, no 
Lotty was to be seen, and Lord Erlscourt was pacing up and 
down the room in a manner by no means common to him. 

“Have you seen Mrs. Leigh?” he asked eagerly of Mrs. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 313 

Bankes, as she entered the room, hanging elegantly, as she 
termed it, on dear Fred.’s arm. 

Though she simply answered “No,” her thoughts had time to 
, wonder what Margaret must think, to see her intended putting 
himself into such a fuss all for another woman 

“ Dinner is served, my Lady,” pompously announced the 
butler, startliug all Flo.’s thoughts off, by the sonorousness of 
I liis mode of imparting such interesting news. 

“ We must wait,” said Lady Leigh. “ Mrs. Leigh has not 
returned home.” 

“ She has dined, my Lady, and desired me to inform you she 
would be with you at tea.” 

With marked vexation, Lord Erlscourt gave his arm to Mrs. 
| Bankes, who forgave him his decided want of good taste, because 
» of the peculiar circumstances of his case. On no account could 
I they have arranged it, for her to go in to dinner on the arm of 
Fred. — that would have been so glaring before the servants. 
Otherwise, she enjoyed very much having Lord Erlscourt all to 
herself, and took every opportunity of breaking into any conver- 
sation between him and Margaret, -because she felt it no more 
than her duty, if it were even for but one day, to prevent the 
servants guessing the real state of things. If Margaret had 
shown a want of feeling and delicacy, it was the more imperative 
she should be particular. Therefore she became at last quite 
confidential ; whispering all sorts of things into his ear, about 
Lotty, and where she could be gone — perhaps to High Leigh, 
to tell the news — until Fred.’s hair began to stand on end with 
amazement. And if Lord Erlscourt had not answered all the 
whispers in a loud, anti-confidential tone, with a countenance 
and manner to match, it might have so occurred that Fred, 
would have succumbed to a fit of jealousy. 

Lotty was in the tea-room when they left the dining-room, and 
had nothing to say in excuse for her absence, but that she fan- 
cied she would like a long walk, and Bear fancied the same 
thing. 

She was very silent all the evening ; no ready answers for 
Mrs. Bankes. Even Margaret said, “ Are you tired, my Lotty ? ” 

“You know I am never tired,” muttered Lotty. 

“Let us have some music, Florence?” asked Margaret; 
which request was often a gentle ruse on Lady Leigh’s part, to 
employ the ever-active Mrs. Bankes in something harmless. 

Basil took the opportunity of her being so engaged to write a 
little note, and fastening it in Bear’s collar, he whispered to him 
27 


314 


MARGARET 


to whom to convey it. After much coquetry on Bear’s part, 
Lotty obtained the note. It only said, — 

“ May I walk with you in the morning? 

“ Basil.” 

“ Go and say yes, Bear,” answered Lotty, tossing the note 
into the lire. 

Basil recovered his good humor, and found himself, under the 
influence thereof, praising Mrs. Bankes’s dashing, crashing, 
rattling mode of scrambling over the keys of the piano, intend- 
ing people to believe she was performing in the most approved 
style. 

At night, when Lotty went up stairs, she sat, for some time 
after undressing, thinking in her chair instead of retiring to her 
couch. Bear sat opposite to her, winking and blinking his eyes 
all to no purpose at this strange proceeding. At last he elevated 
a paw, and tapped her inquiringly on the arm. 

“ So, Bear, you wonder what is the matter with Lotty? She 
is not tired, no, no ; but some how her heart is weary. Well, 
what do you wish to say? Do you think it was all true that 
Flo. said? No, you don’t. You turn away your head. Neither 
do I, Bear ; we know our Margaret better ; and Basil is too 
thoughtful, too considerate, to ask now. Besides — besides, 
what did he mean, by what he said this morning ! O ! you 
know, do you ? you are pleased, and yet you know it must not 
be so. Do you not see that Lotty is not Lotty this evening? — 
she is weak and foolish. Tell Lotty to recollect her duty, to 
call up all her resolution ; for to-morrow, Bear, to-morrow morn- 
ing you and she will require all the fortitude, all the decision, 
all the determination, that ever you used before in your whole 
lives, concentrated in one short half-hour. We have borne many 
things together, Bear, and this last trial, this one other duty, is 
for Margaret, our queen. Anything we can bear for her, even 
though we have discovered, even though we feel, we half guess, 
why we could not love poor Philip, and Avhy — yes, ’tis true, 
you need not turn away, why we shall have this heartache for- 
ever. But it can be done — it shall. A fond, foolish fancy 
makes him think he loves Lotty and Bear. So he does, so he 
ever will, but not as he is to love Margaret. No weakness on 
our parts shall mar that work. Our Margaret has had suffering 
enough ; with Basil to guard her life, under God’s blessing, she 
will knpw what happiness is. So now. Bear, to bed ; whatever 
occurs to us, still we would not be Carry and Flo. ; and while that 
is the case, and our Margaret is happy, what more need we ? ” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


316 


CHAPTER LXVIII. 

Bear was very unfeeling, being in conduct more like a thought- 
less, mischievous puppy, than the recipient of a grave and heavy 
secret ; so that, when Lotty was dressing in the morning, he had 
to be scolded for childish behavior on several occasions. It wa? 
so early, too, for his little mistress had hardly slept all night, 
and, as she noiselessly opened the hall door to let themselves out 
Bear was quite rude in his efforts to rush past. It was a dark 
February morning, the stars were yet shining in the deep, 
gloomy sky, showing, by their little glancing lights, Basil lean- 
ing against a pillar of the portico. 

“ How early you are, Basil ! ” said Lotty, at once a stern hero- 
ine outwardly. “ No one is stirring yet.” 

“ Save you and I, Lotty, which is just what I wished. Mrs. 
Bankes, in particular, is, I trust, still sleeping.” 

“You seem to be quite afraid of her.” 

“ How your heart beats, Lotty ! ” interrupted Basil, as he drew 
her arm under his. 

“ No, it does not,” said Lotty, angrily ; “it is your own. I 
feel it against my arm.” 

“ That I am willing to allow,” answered he ; “ for if I only 
see Bear’s nose, my heart is very much agitated.” 

“ Bear is off over the fields, so do not put such nonsense upon 
him.” 

“ I do not mean to do so ; you know as well as I do, that 
when I see Bear, I expect his mistress.” 

They had been walking on during this conversation, and now 
came to a turn in the path ; to the right was the cedar avenue, 
dark, close, mystical, — a true lovers’ bower. To the left was 
a stile of three steps, which led to a breezy knoll in the park. 
Basil paused. 

“ Lotty, if what I have to say seems to you precipitate, selfish, 
inconsiderate, impute these sins to Mrs. Bankes rather than to 
me ” 

“You don’t seem to like her,” interrupted Lotty, in a short, 
dry tone. 

“ I may, ere long, love her, for being the means of ending a 
suspense that has been hateful and harassing to me. Twice 
before have I seen the happiness of my life slip from my grasp 


316 


MARGARET 


through over-many scruples. I might have waited — I would 
have waited yet a few months more, in pure delicacy to your 
mourning, but Mrs. Bankes’s communication to you yesterday 
relieves me from silence. Lotty, I love you, sweetest, dearest 
Lotty — I woo you for my wife.” 

u You mistake, Basil,” said Lotty, in a voic£ that might have 
come out of a marble quarry, it sounded so hard and cold. Basil 
made no answer, but suddenly put his arm round the slight 
waist, and, with one effort, he lifted her up and placed her on 
the upper step of the stile ; then, with his arm still round her, 
he knelt on the lower one, and looked straight into her eyes. 

In his she read an answer to her remonstrance, that needed 
no words. Glowing with the love of a noble, truthful heart, 
with so much of entreaty, that hers beat with pain, knowing 
what she must do ; with such a world of tenderness, it throbbed 
with wild happiness that she had gained such a look ; with such 
a tide of past sorrows, with such a fear of present grief, no won- 
der that Lotty’s slight figure began to tremble with the greatness 
of her task, and that so many mingled emotions brought the 
blood in rushing fever to her face. Unable to bear the ardent 
and entreating glance of those eyes, feeling that blush after ^ 
blush rose in uncontrollable emotion, Lotty covered her face 
with her hands. But even in them did the crimson tide run to 
the finger-ends. 

Nevertheless, unchanged was the firm voice, as she again 
said : “ Basil, this is a mistake.” 

“ How can I mistake, Lotty?” he answered, in “the low voice 
of a heart’s question. 

“ You forget the trees of the old forest, and what you told 
them. You remember not the old house, deep in the woods, 
whose walls heard your first secret.” 

“ I remember them full well. I had a sorrow, and I gave it 
to them. I had a grief that required branding from the heart. 

I laid the burning finger of duty on the place, and it was done.” 

“ Only to break forth the more luxuriantly, Basil, for the for- 
titude with which it was suppressed.” 

u It broke forth in a new light, happy and free — a pure foun- 
tain, welling up to the lips with brotherly love, as was meet, and 
no more.” 

“ But -now, Basil, now it may flow as you list. She knows 
you once loved her ; Harold told her.” 

“ Bethink you, sweet, loving Lotty, so quick to read all char- 
acters, what man could look at Margaret and ask her to love 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


317 


twice? Would she act by me thus, in sweet, sisterly foudness, 
knowing that I once loved her otherwise, if she did not feel I 
would not insult her with a thought of marriage? Ah, Lotty ! 
your usually true judgment is at fault here.” 

u Margaret is of a nature so clinging, so fond,” whispered Lot- 
j ty, hurriedly, “ so young, time might accustom her to the thought. 
i Think what a long life to lead, all lonely and mourning ! ” 

“ She is not lonely, she never will be ; she thinks of her 
! Harold by day as walking by her side, though unseen ; she sees 
him in her dreams at night, and communes with him. Look in 
| her eyes, and mark if the remembrance of Harold and his fate 
leaves them for a moment.” 

“It is true her eyes retain the shadow of her grief ; other 
thoughts, another happiness, may restore their light.” 

“Not by me shall that pure heart, consecrated to its first and 
only love, be outraged. The love I gave Margaret on her mar- 
riage, was sacredly a brother’s ; and so resolutely was any other 
torn up by its roots, that even in that lone forest house, most 
surely beneath those friendly trees, did another bud of love begin 
to sprout, for a little thing with a child’s face and a woman’s 
heart.” 

“ How very inconstant ! ” came from Lotty’s lips, in a sort of 
flighty imitation of Mrs. Bankes’s manner. 

“ And when we took that drive with Margaret to the ruined 
farm-houses, the bud grew to full and perfect blossom, until, at 
last, my whole heart is filled with the perfume of it.” 

“ And yet you suffered me to marry Philip Leigh ! ” burst 
irrepressibly from Lotty’s lips. 

“ Ah, Lotty ! my Lotty ! then, if I had asked then, I should 
not have been refused ; nay, turn not away. Rather pity me, 
and think of my strange, sad fate, to be twice robbed of my 
hopes. This must excuse me, Lotty, if you think I have been 
too precipitate.” 

“I have nothing to excuse. If I were going to marry you, 
I might ask yau to wait until the two years are over ; but as I 
am not, no one need know that you have outraged my delicate 
feelings of decorum.” 

“ In the dark, I must have mistaken Mrs. Bankes for my 
Lotty ; surely ” 

“ You must not call me so. And pray let me go, Basil ; it is 
very cold, sitting like a turkey on the top of a rail, in February.” 

“ Then my manhood’s hopes are to be dashed to the ground, 
like my youth’s dreams. You are merciless, Lotty.” 

27 * 


318 


MARGARET 


44 If one is to be disagreeable, it is best to do it well.” 

44 You are free.” 

44 Good-by, Basil.” 

As he released her their eyes met. 

44 Lotty, if I consent to wait, that you may have ample time 
to see how true my opinion is, how mistaken yours, — if I serve 
for you the time of a Rachel’s price, ay, and double that, — may 
I hope that you Avill also ” 

44 Wait ! suppose I have the chance of marrying Mr. Bankes’s 
red-haired cousin? Don’t ask such a sacrifice.” 

44 Not for worlds.” A sunny light came into his eyes. “ He 
is to be my only rival, then. Say so, Lotty. Ah ! Lotty, make 
this one little concession to me, on which to hang a ray of hope.” 

44 What concession? ” 

44 You marry red-haired Mr. Bankes or me.” 

44 I shall be in my grave before the one fact happens, so I can 
easily promise the other.” 

44 Thank you a thousand times, and yet a thousand times to 
that. I begin my servitude to-morrow ; it shall be my own fault 
if I do not prove to you the truth of my opinions ; and if I take 
strange methods to do so, it is but to bring it unmistakably 
before your judgment.” 

44 Do whatever you like, only remember my words — you 
are mistaken, you were mistaken, and if you are not careful, 
you will be mistaken.” 

44 My choice is made ; cold-hearted, but matchless Lotty, fare- 
well!” 


CHAPTER LXIX. 

Mrs. Bankes was considerably surprised - to find no Lord 
Erlscourt at breakfast, and still more so on hearing that he had 
departed for home. 

44 Dear me ! is not his departure rather sudden?” 

44 Yes, it is,” replied Margaret, in calm tones, 44 1 had no idea 
he was going this morning, until I heard he was gone.” 

44 I suppose to make preparations?” asked Flo. 

‘ 4 1 have no doubt of it,” answered Margaret, as calmly as 
ever. 

44 And when is it to be?” continued Flo., almost gasping 
with amazement. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


319 


“ The moment the weather permits,” was the quiet answer. 

“ In the name of goodness ! Margaret,” exclaimed Flo., “leave 
off your caps first.” 

It was now Lady Leigh’s turn to look astonished, and, with a 
faint blush on her fair cheek, she said, “Lord Erlscourt has gone 
to prepare for a voyage to Holland — but, in fact, I need not 
explain the matter to you, for you were in the room, half hidden 
by the window-curtain, when he proposed, and I accepted, this 
i act of true brotherly kindness.” 

“ And was that all you settled?” 

“ You heard the whole,” answered Margaret, her dove’s eyes 
j beginning to brighten with indignation. 

“ I beg your pardon, I went away as soon as I could, and I 
met Lotty, and we two settled it could only be one sort of pro- 
posal ” 

“ My Lotty knows her Margaret better and fondly kissing 
her, Margaret left the room. 

“ Well, to be sure ! otflike an enraged queen. I wonder you 
put up with her airs, Lotty.” 

“ She never gives me any.” 

“ No, I recollect you never could do wrong ; but, Lotty, I hope 
you did not go gossiping over with this news to your old Scotch 
friend ; for if you did you’ll catch it, that’s all.” 

“ I will endure what I catch.” 

“ I know you will, you good little thing ! You are everybody’s 
friend, and nobody’s enemy but your own.” 

“ That is the form of consolation bestowed upon him who 
loveth good wine, Flo.” 

“ Pooh, pooh, child ! but I wish you would listen to reason, 
from your best friend, I can tell you. Sooner or later, this mar- 
riage will take place, mark my words. The higher and more 
lofty my Lady Leigh holds her head, the sooner will she give in. 
I know precisely what her character is ” 

“ Ever since you thought it so odd, she did not (to use your 
own phrase, Flo.) prig my sugar-plums, when we Avere school- 
girls.” 

“ You are very nonsensical this morning, Lotty ; and where 
are you going now ? ” 

“ To a hamlet on the road to High Leigh, to take this prayer- 
book to a great sinner.” 

“ My dear, I will go with you. I want a private chat with 
you, and I may put you in the way of doing a great deal of good, 
in a sensible way.” 


320 


MARGARET 


Bear gave a sort of howl, which was either caused by his own 
peculiar sense of the honor, or because Lotty pinched his ear. 

“ Bless that dog ! ” exclaimed Flo., on the spur of the start he 
gave her ; “ one would suppose he was a Christian, and was 
jealous at my proposing to walk with you.” 

“ You are very jealous, are you not, Bear?” answered Lotty, 
pinching again. 

Bear howled to a roar. 

“ Lotty, you must leave that dog at home ; I will not go out 
with such a brute.” 

“Very well, Flo. — Bear, you are to stay at home.” 

Bear trotted off, apparently quite content ; and when Flo. 
joined Lotty, in her walking dress, she expressed herself highly 
satisfied that he was not to be seen. 

Lotty laughed, and said, “ Don’t exult until you are out of 
the wood.” 

On the road to the hamlet, Mrs. Bankes gave Lotty a long 
history of all her troubles and sorrows : how she and dear 
Fred, were fearfully in debt ; how old Bankes, the father, would 
help them no more ; how stingy he was, and cross ; and how all 
might be delightfully arranged and settled, if she would come 
and live with them, and giving them three hundred pounds per 
annum, which she would never miss, they might even keep a 
little brougham. “For, my dear, words cannot tell you how 
cabmen cheat — they take a perfect fortune. Is this the hamlet, 
dear? how pretty ! Bless me ! why that dog is very like yours, 
only he looks more gentle.” 

“ Come here, sir,” said Lotty ; “ did I not tell you, you were 
not to walk with us, Bear ? ” for it was he, who wagged his tail, 
as much as to say he came by himself, and not with them. 

“ So you did,” said Lotty, in answer to the mute appeal ; 
“ therefore, if you will behave like a gentleman, you may return 
with us.” 

“ Lotty, that dog is just a demon, an evil spirit ; if he were 
mine, I should certainly have him destroyed. Does he under- 
stand all you say ? ” 

“ Yes, like a proper demon ; — but here is my friend whom I 
came to see. — I have brought you a prayer-book, to be ready 
for next Sunday.” 

“ Thank ye, ma’am. My missus is main glad I be going to 
church ; she says I must get faith to be good, and I dunna joost 
know what faith be.” 

“ Your missus had faith, that when she married you, you 
would prove a good husband to her.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


321 


“ Lord save ye, ma’am ! I doubt I hanna been that.” 

“ Does she now think you make her a bad one?” 

“ Bless her heart, no ! my Betsy always thinks I’ll mend.” 

“ Then she has faith.” 

“ Be that it, surely?” 

“ Yes ; and if Betsy has faith in you, a weak, erring mortal,' 
why art thou of so little faith, O man, that thou believest not in 
the goodness and mercy of God ? ” 

“ The Lord forgive me ! sure, that’s true. Please his good- 
ness, I’ll strive to mend.” 

“ Lotty, my dear,” said Flo., on returning home, “ that man 
is a hypocrite, mark me.” 

“Why, Flo.?” 

“ He wishes to get something out of you, my dear, he is so 
ready to be converted.” 

“ I think not, Flo. ; he has had a miserable life for the last 
five or six years. Within these few months Margaret has given 
him constant work, and the change from want and wickedness 
to competence, with self-respect, will have its due efiect upon 
him.” 

“That is all very fine. You will find ‘him spending all his 
money at the alehouse, instead of coming to church.” 

“ Still, Flo., we shall have the satisfaction of thinking we did 
our best to reclaim him.” 

“ Poor satisfaction.” 

Flo. would not have thought it such, -with all her flightiness, 
if she had seen the meeting of Lotty and her friend at church 
the next Sunday, and, indeed, for many a Sunday after. 

The look of happiness in Lotty’ s eyes, as she made her gentle 
bow of recognition in the church porch, called a blush of pride 
and pleasure into the rough, coarse face of that sinning man. 
The rising blood came from a heart on which had fallen one 
good seed of kindly sympathy, and the spring, once found, never 
failed. 


CHAPTER L X X . 

Easter-Tuesday arrived, an important day for Pru. The 
long, lingering attachment she had evinced for a certain curate, 
was brought to an abrupt close, and sprouted up with redoubled 


322 


MARGARET 


vigor and growth into an ardent affection for her rector hus- 
band. This being the seventh marriage recorded in this book, 
it fortunately happened to be unlike any of its predecessors in 
more than one respect. 

First, John Grey insisted upon everybody walking to church. 
“For,” said he, u that will afford Charlotte time to weigh well 
what she is about at the last moment.” 

Charlotte proved her appreciation of his kind thought, by 
walking more nimbly than usual, which occasioned Lotty to 
remark, “ that Pru. seemed to fear he might change his mind.” 

Pru.’s answer to this unkind speech was a laugh, which she 
intended to be scornful ; but, alas ! she was little gifted with the 
necessary commodity to express such a feeling, consequently it 
was such a merry laugh, John kissed her hand before all the 
company on the spot. 

Secondly, the wedding was so quiet, Pru. was nearly reduced 
to having the parish clerk for a bridesmaid, if Miss Rachel 
Clare had not kindly stepped in to the vacant responsibility. 
Lotty did propose the twins, but it seemed probable that half 
way to church, the bride and bridegroom would have to take 
each a little bridesmaid up in their arms and carry them the rest 
of the way. 

The third and last peculiarity avus, that no smart chaise and 
four came to the door, with radiant and rubicund-faced post- 
boys streaming with favors and primed witli beer. It was the 
bride and bridegroom who staid at home while all the com- 
pany went away. u For,” said good John Grey, u Mr. Herbert 
left his parish to my care, and I do not mean to leave it until 
he comes to resume his duties. Let those who wish it, remain 
and see mine and my Pru.’s happiness. Those who think such 
a sight would overpower them can leave.” 

So it fell out that they all left, u thus,” as Lotty remarked, 
u depriving themselves of all the luck and advantages of having 
old shoes thrown after the carriage.” 

Lady Katherine returned home with Mr. and Mrs. Frank ; 
Margaret to her mother, at Montagu House, accompanied by 
Miss Rachel ; Lotty to her own people, who were impatient to 
have her. So Mr. and Mrs. Laird were the only people who 
remained in the neighborhood, and witnessed now and then the 
happiness of the newly married ; and as they were Scotch peo- 
ple, with good strong nerves, they bore the sight with the utmost 
composure and fortitude. 

In April, Basil, with his brothers, departed on his voyage. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


328 


His letters to Margaret were constant during the weeks lie spent 
hovering about that wild and weary spot, whose treacherous 
sands have ingulfed so many high and noble hearts, and been 
the dread of all mariners ever since the history of the world. 

Though she had never told them so, Lotty and Basil knew 
that Margaret clung to the idea of recovering the body of her 
Harold. It seemed but the one thing wanting, ere she resolutely 
and forever submitted to her lot. If she could visit some tomb, 
have something which contained his ashes, and where hers might 
mingle with them, it would suffice for her tender heart. The 
restless longing, the ever-recurring question, “ Was he really 
gone ? ” appeared but natural ; for her dead had never been 
removed from her sight. There had been no sick bed, with its 
hopes and fears, and sad preparation. No last words to be 
treasured up. No lifeless form, no touch of marble features ; 
no closing of beloved and loving eyes, the extinction of whose 
light darkened a living heart forever. Death takes all these 
and much more to force itself in all the stern reality upon those 
who share but one spirit between them. Thus the heaviness of 
the blow had, for the first year of her mourning, fallen with 
numbing effect upon her soul, in addition to the gentle endeavor 
to spare the poor, conscience-stricken mother ; but as the frame 
recovered its elasticity, so did the feelings become more acute, 
rendering Margaret more restless and unhappy than she had 
been at all. Among other desires was a wish to visit Cowes. 
A pining wish to tread in the place his footsteps had last pressed, 
to see the house he had lived in, and visit the last spots he had 
touched on earth, took possession of her. As if divining all 
Margaret felt, Lotty persuaded Lady Katherine to propose a 
visit to the sea-side for them all, and as the time settled for 
Basil’s return home was approaching, it seemed natural enough 
for them all to adjourn to the Isle of Wight. 

Here, though eighteen months and more had elapsed since the 
tragedy occurred, they were too much the object of interest to 
escape notoriety. So they retired to Bonchurch, making excur- 
sions from time to time to visit the places Margaret wished. 
Lotty had expected her to have this reaction ; but she knew 
that when once the dark fit had passed, Margaret would be for 
the rest of her lifetime resigned, nay, cheerful. 

L T nluckily for their desire to be quiet and alone, the ever-rest- 
less Mrs. Bankes had seen in the newspapers the account of 
their arrival at Bonchurch ; and she and Carry being at that 
time in lodgings together at Ryde, agreed it would be no more 


S24 


MARGARET 


than neighborly, and a proper duty to their former school- 
fellows, if they left their gay quarters at Hyde, and took up 
their abode near them. 

To Carry, the change was pleasant ; she cared only for her 
babies. To Flo., the plan was advisable ; she wished to pursue 
her designs on Lotty’s liberty. 

For in truth, Flo. and her husband were much embarrassed, 
as regarded pecuniary matters. ' And having been assisted 
several times by old Mr. Bankes, that gentleman had at last 
become angry and indignant, flatly refusing to assist them. And 
in addition to this very uncomfortable announcement, he had 
favored Mrs. Frederick Bankes with his private idea of the 
matter, openly declaring it was her extravagance, thoughtless- 
ness, and love of dress, that was ruining his amiable, but not 
over-wise son. Flo. was never backward in retorting ; and, 
therefore, a scene ensued, which rendered it desirable that all 
parties should separate for a time. Flo. thought it a relief to 
join even Carry at the sea-side, and was civil to the babies, 
rather than lose this haven. It was, therefore, good news to 
know that Lotty was so near ; and if she only could persuade 
her to live with them for a few months, she felt certain of being 
restored to favor in her husband’s family. They were good, 
kind-hearted people, generous and forbearing, and by no mean:; 
deserving the character Flo. gave them. 

But their old schoolfellows were by no means so pleased to 
see them, and thought of quitting the field of action, when news 
came of the return of the u Hippie.” 

Poor Margaret gave way more than she had ever done before, 
at this failure of her last hope of recovering the body of her 
Harold. And they let her surfeit herself with her grief. They 
felt certain that the remembrance of Harold’s last words would 
soon return to her, and the wish to do all he had so fondly 
desired, would become her daily task. 

Nothing now was left to her but the hope of being again 
united to him in another world, that hope he had so ardently 
expressed himself. But she had a great deal to do, duties to 
perform, certain things must be done, ere she prepared for that 
change which would restore her once more, and forever, to her 
Harold. She must be up and doing — no blot must tarnish the 
brightness of that hour, no remembrance of things undone, no re- 
morse for time wasted ; she must be able to say, “ I have done all 
that weak human nature could do ; take now thy servant to rest.” 

Basil and Lotty kept strict ward and watch over their Marga- 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


826 


ret, that no invasion of Bankeses and Roystons should vex her 
perturbed spirit during the few remaining days of their stay. 

Lotty never left Mrs. Bankes’s side for a moment when calling 
at their house, which made that worthy person say to herself, 
“ How fond that little thing is of me ! she is a nice little soul, 
too, and so pretty ; she will make quite a sensation while she is 
with me.” 

While Basil admired all Mrs. Royston’s babies, and witnessed 
all their various performances with such interest, that she con- 
fided to Flo. : “It was a sad pity he was not married, and had 
children of his own.” 

“My dear, he is going to be,” answered Flo., with vast 
importance. “ When I was down at Court Leigh, the whole 
matter was intrusted to me, but, of course, confidentially, it 
being early yet.” 

“ But, dear Flo., you might tell me,” coaxed Carry. 

“Not for worlds,” sternly answered Flo., charmed at per- 
ceiving Carry interested about something besides babies, and 
conceiving it her duty to be inexorable on that account. 

“ It cannot be Lotty,” said Carry, sulkily ; “ for though his 
brothers brought her a number of presents, he never gave her 
one, and hardly speaks to her, that I can see.” 

“ My dear, be patient, then, indeed, you will see what you 
will see ; but I cannot have Lotty flirting with those boys — I 
must speak to her. Presents, indeed ! what business has she to 
be accepting presents from young men ? — she will get herself into 
a fine mess.” 

“And I heard them asking her for a lock of hair, in return.” 

“ True, so they did ; but I was glad to perceive that she had 
sufficient discretion to refuse her own, though she gave them 
some of the dog’s. Ah, me ! I must warn her — it is but a step 
from Bear’s tail to her head.” 

It need hardly be mentioned, that before long, Carry was in 
full possession of all Flo. had to tell, whether true or not ; the 
love of gossiping being superior to the wish of teasing Carry. 

On the morrow after this conversation, they both agreed to 
pay a long visit to their old schoolfellows, and spying out all 
they could, mutually to reveal all to each other, compare notes, 
and draw their own conclusions. But the visit was not paid, 
inasmuch as on their road to the house they met the heavy 
travelling coach and four of Lady Katherine, well packed and 
crammed, and caught a glimpse of the old lady, sitting bolt 
upright, as if still in presence of the gracious Queen Charlotte, 
28 


326 


MARGARET 


of the fair, sad face of Margaret, of Lotty, and Lottina, bo- 
peeping at each other for amusement, evidently one and all 
prepared for a long journey. 

“ Law ! ” exclaimed Flo., in a tdne of indignant disappointment. 

“ Gracious heavens ! ” murmured Carry ; u young Sir Har- 
old is outside ! on the box ! with the butler ! ! ! ” 


CHAPTER L XX I . 

Truly they were all on their road home, where they duly 
arrived, and were welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. Grey. 

John Grey said, 44 Talk of Darby and Joan ! all I can tell 
you is, it would take six Darbies and six Joans to equal mine 
and my Pru.’s happiness.” Mrs. Laird came over the next 
morning, and kissed and blessed them all, as if she had not had 
a moment’s peace or happiness since they left. 

44 And sae my Lord’s aff i’ the morrow?” 

44 Yes, Mammy Laird.” said Lotty, in her glee and happiness ; 
“ he has devoted himself long enough now to Margaret ; he 
must go and see after his own affairs.” 

44 1 am thinking he wad liae gettin a bit business here to 
sattle, my bairn, ere he went back.” 

44 He has no business here, except to do as you do, and that 

is, spoil us.” 

“Hoot! bairn, it’s my belief you are come hame more full 
of mischief nor ever. Hae ye quarrelled, hinney ? ” 

u Such a question ! just as if any one could quarrel with me.” 

44 Dinna ye think owre weel o’ yersel’ : ay, but ye are the 
bonniest thing. — But Pll say nae mail* : ony just tell me, hae ye 
and my lord no hit it joost? ” 

44 What have you been doing, during our absence? taking to 
bad ways, I fear.” 

44 He no spaks a word till ye, and he no luiks at ye, and he 
gangs ane way, when ye come the titlier — I dinna understand 

it, bairn.” 

“ Ask him, then, if you are so unhappy ; perhaps out of kind- 
ness to you, he will say for once, 4 My dear Lotty, I hope you 
are well,’ or 4 have you walked to-day ? ’ or 4 have ’ ” 

44 Be dune wi’ a’ yer clashing and nonsense. I’ll no expect 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


827 


on y sens© out of ye, if ye dinna mind, my bonny, bonny, dar- 
ling thing. ,, 

It was of no use to ask anymore questions, or to find fault; 
the very sight of her made Mrs. Laird’s heart go pitapat, as 
if the doctor was sueing again for her maiden hand ; she said, 
“ I’ll aye scold her weel, byes and byes, but I am just daft 
Avi’ sight o’ her ; surely she is getting more bonny and winsome, 
every day.” 

“ Noav, Lotty,” said Margaret, “you and I will spend a good 
and happy winter. We shall be alone ; Basil does not think to 
come near us again until spring, and my mother must not move 
in the winter : Lady Katherine will be with her John Grey. 1 , 
have sent for a number of books, and you must read aloud to 
me ; we must break Master Harold into learning some lessons, 
and then you must help me all about the property.” 

“ Good me ! ” replied Lotty, “ I am very glad that you have 
ceased talking. Except for the voice, I thought it was Flo. 
chattering on.” 

Margaret kissed her, smiling, and said, “ Saucy thing, why 
may not I chatter like others ? But I wish to tell you a good 
thing, Lotty : Messrs. Moneypenny have sent their clerk over 
here, to tell me another remittance has come from Australia of 
tAVO thousand five hundred pounds, and with the bill is a short 
note, saying it is to be placed to my account ; and here is the 
note, Lotty. It is undoubtedly in Mr. Price’s handwriting.” 

“It is very like it, certainly.” 

“ See ! I have collected some old letters of his, and it is 
exactly the same. Now, is this not a good thing, Lotty?” 

“ For you, very, Queen Margaret ” 

“ For me ! Can you not think Iioav good it is that this man 
repents? No more Avill my Harold’s name be stained Avitli the 
stigma, that through negligence, ignorance, or indolence he in- 
cited a soul to sin. Ah ! Lotty, what is the money, doubled, 
trebled, in comparison to that?” 

“ Dear Meg. ! I love you, and think as you do.” 

“ And noAV, Lotty, I uiay, Avitli a clear conscience, raise a 
monument to his name. I mean no outward show, no vain 
glorying, no pompous epitaph. In my heart of hearts is my 
Harold’s name Avritten, never more to be effaced from that 
innermost spot. But I should like, Lotty, in his name, and 
for his sake, to build that little church. I have money, for the 
credit side at Messrs. Moneypenny’s bank is noAv in favor of the 
Court Leigh estates ; and in gratitude to God, I may begin to 


828 


MARGARET 


spend it in his service. The schools, also ! Indeed I hav« many 
things to do before — before ” 

“ When, Margaret?” 

“ I join my Harold.” 

“ All ! Margaret, is that the goal of your desires? Is it this 
idea that makes you welcome each new day with joy, and yet 
bless the evening of each day as a still greater boon ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, it is this, only this ! ” and locking her fair fingers 
together, Margaret’s face became changed. Lotty saw, with 
surprise, that her eyes looked upwards, as if she beheld a sight 
that Lotty could not see. She appeared to think she was alone 
with this viewless vision, for whisperingly from her lips came 
the words, — 

“Yes, Harold, another year has almost passed ; I am so much 
nearer to you. I will leave our children well fitted, and of age 
to cope with the Avorld. The name of Leigh shall be honored 
and blessed. Then, Harold, my Harold, we meet to part no 
more.” 

As Lotty marked the words, and viewed the absorption of 
Margaret’s heart, a flood of light flashed up into her eyes, the 
rosy blood spread hither and thither, high up on the snowy 
brow, and down the little white throat ; brighter, more vivid, 
until at last, with her face all scarlet, Lotty glanced in a sort 
of shame-faced way at Margaret — she was still absorbed ; so 
stealing shyly away, Lotty went otf to hide these emotions, so 
strange and new to her, in a covert, where not even Bear could 
find her. It was some hours ere they met again ; both were 
restored to their usual state of mind, which in Lotty had con- 
sisted for some time of a morose character. Very naughty and 
unlovable she was at times. 

“ Lotty, dear ! ” said Margaret, “I do not think you bade 
Basil farewell when he went away.” 

u No ! ” said Lotty, shortly. 

“ Have you two quarrelled?” 

“ No ! thank you ; that would be taking.trouble for nothing.” 

“ There is something not quite kind about you at present, and 
I do not know whose fault it is.” 

“It is a matter of so little consequence, I wonder you trouble 
your head about it.” 

“ Do you deem me so selfish and unkind that I see nothing, 
even when it concerns my two dearest and best friends? ” 

“ I implied nothing of the sort, Margaret ; I but insinuated it 
was of no moment whether Basil and I were friends or not.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


329 


“ Ah ! I have suspected something was the matter for some 
time. lie never writes to you now, or sends you little loving 
messages, and even calls you Mrs. Leigh.” 

“ And very proper too. It is high time he should remember 
that I am not little Lotty.” 

u If his conduct pleases you, little, wilful Lotty, then must I 
be satisfied ? But I had a wish, a fond wish ” 

“ Which you had better scatter to the four winds at once,” 
interrupted the little Bear, Lotty. 

* * * “ * * * 

So they passed a busy and quiet winter, during which a faint 
bloom rose in Margaret’s cheeks, that the sharp winter blasts 
sometimes deepened into a glow. 

Gerald had been written to about the new church, and had 
sent his cordial consent and approbation, welcoming, as much as 
his parishioners did, the idea of keeping Mr. Grey among them. 

Lotty insisted upon endowing the new church when com- 
pleted, for it would benefit the estate of High Leigh more than 
any other place. “ Besides,” said she, “ it is Philip’s legacy — 
his memorial tablet.” 

“ Ech, bairn ! it’s wonderfu’ the rock o’ sense in that wee 
head. I wad like to see ye do something joost no canny, or by 
ordinar foolish,” said Mrs. Laird. 

“ Bear shall pull Cowslip’s tail. Will that do?” 

“ Hoot, awa ! at aye time, Miss Rachel, she’s no canny, this 
bairn.” 

“ Canny or not, Mrs. Laird, we cannot help loving her,” said 
I Miss Rachel. 

“ And sae Mistress Herbert’s to the fore agin, and they’ll be 
; hame the next summer.” 

“ Yes. She is growing strong, well, and fat ; so it will be an 
encouragement to us to go w r hen w 7 e are miserable and thin/’ 
I said Lotty. 

“My certie ! when will we see thon? though I’m speering 
you’re no that weel, my bairn.” 

“ I have thought so for some time, Mrs. Laird,” said Mar- 
garet, just coming up. “ I think she pores over those learned 
I books too much, and that makes her ” 

“ Cross ! ” interrupted Lotty. 

“ Nay, nay,” continued Margaret ; “but I have come to make 
a proposal — shall we not have the first stone of the new church 
laid next Tuesday, the fourteenth of February?” 

“ No. I will not have it so,” said Lotty. 


380 


MARGARET 


“ Why, my Lotty, it seems to me, after being dead for two cr 
three years, the little Bear has come to life again,” answered 
Margaret, in surprise. 

“ Then that is an additional reason the beginning of so good 
a deed should not commence on such an evil day.” 

“ The little Bear has returned without any doubt. Ah, Pru. ! 
you are just in time,” continued Margaret. “ Would you believe 
it ? Lotty is cross.” 

“O! pray excuse me, dear Margaret, but I cannot believe it ; 
neither, I am sure, will John,” said Mrs. Grey. 

“ Nay, judge for yourself. She will not suffer the first stone 
of the new church to be laid upon her birthday.” 

u O!” exclaimed Pru., with great animation, “it must, it 
shall ! — and it is a most curious circumstance, John and mamma 
settled it on that very day too.” 

“ Then that decides it, best Lotty ; so, kiss me, and say you 
are a good girl, and will never be so haughty again ” 

“ Take the kiss if you wish it, Margaret ; but as for the 
promise, I cannot give it.” 

“ Now, is she not a little Bear ? ” said Margaret, turning to Pru . 

Pru. was all anxiety to know if she was quite well. The 
cholera had broken out in Newcastle-on-Tyne, and she much 
feared there was a bad, infectious air about. To which kind 
concern for her health, Lotty only replied by throwing up the 
window on that cold Avinter day, and Avalking straight into the 
supposed bad air. But the clear, bracing atmosphere blew 
away her crossness, and Avhen, in the afternoon, she and Mar- 
garet met Dr. Laird, after their brisk walk of three miles, their 
blooming looks called forth his highest encomiums. 

“ That’s the Avay, ladies, that’s the way to cheat your doctor. 
Walk like that every day of your lives, never mind a driving 
sleet shower or a smart brush of hail, as I 'see you have not to- 
day, and you will live, with God’s blessing, the allotted portion 
of man’s life, hale and vigorous to the close.” 

“ Ech, doctor! I dinna ken which is bonniest o’ them twa. 
I thought there Avas nae rosebud like our little leddy of High 
. Leigh, but, Avith the color in her cheek, and the happy light in 
her eyes, the Leddy Leigh is a picture o’ beauty,” said Mrs. 
Laird in confidence to her husband that evening. 

“ I ne\*er saAV tAvo like them, Janet ; and to think that they 
should be widows, poor young things, both on them ! ” 

“ They Avinna be that lang, doctor, I am thinking. My Lord 
Erlscourt kens as weel as we do, they are no to be matched.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


SSI 


4i Hoot, woman ! do you mean to make, a Turk of my Lord? 

— he canna marry both.” 

“ Ye needn’t fleech at me, Aliek ; I kens what I kens. I’m 
a Scotchwoman, and we are no given to luve twice. My Leddy 
Leigh .is my Leddy Leigh, and I’ll sae nae mair nor nae less.” 

44 You think she will bide so. Weel, may be ; but, oneyways, 
Mrs. Leigh has had nae sich heart-grief. If my Lord fancies her, 
may be she’ll no objec.” 

44 Fancies her ! ech, fancies her ! — and ye ca’ yersel’ a man 
o’ pairts, Alick ! ” 

44 Come, Janet, don’t flyte out at me like that. I’ll agree that 
I am no so sharp as you in luve matters, if that wull content yc.” 

44 1 kenned that owre weel afore, man. Fancies her, indeed ! 

— Gang yer ways and get a pipe, doctor, to compose ye, for yer 
very aggravating this afternoon.” 

The doctor laughed, and contentedly departed to obey her in- 
junctions. So the thirteenth of February came, and all was 
prepared for the next day’s ceremony. 

44 There is a letter from Basil, and he says nothing about 
coming to-morrow,” said Margaret, in a disappointed tone. 

44 Then I suppose he will not come,” answered Lotty. 

44 He sends no message to you, Lotty.” 

44 1 did not expect one, Meg.” 

44 But he asks after Bear.” 

44 You can tell him he has two gray hairs in his tail.” 

44 Lotty ! Lotty ! — but perhaps he has written to you ? ” 

44 To me ! — wherefore ? ” 

44 To tell you Brian is going to Oxford, and Hugh insists upon 
becoming a civil engineer.” 

4 ‘ That boy was always examining the interior of steam- 
engines, and pulled everything to pieces, only to find out how it 
was made.” 

44 They both send their love to you, Lotty, but Basil must have 
forgotten his.” 

44 As I expected none from him, I am not disappointed.” 

Margaret tried to read the little Bear’s imperturbable counte- 
nance in vain. 

That night Lotty was' again absorbed in thought ere she 
went to bed, and the great Bear had to touch her more than 
once. 

u Yes, Bear, I know. But we are in a difficult position. 
Another year, if not two, must pass. M r e cannot tell what time 
may do. Bear and Lotty are not to do anything that they may 


832 


MARGARET 


hereafter repent. Our Margaret is so much better, so much 
more cheerful, and she has so many cares, requiring a man’s 
help. It may turn out to be a necessary good, an absolute want. 
Though we arc young, and supposed to be not over wise, wo 
have had our experiences, Bear ; and thus we have reason to 
think that changes almost as startling as the Ethiop changing 
his skin, and the leopard his spots, might occur, and do occur, in 
this gray, hoary-headed, venerable old world. Aud what a silly, 
foolish, childish, not to say wicked, world it is sometimes ! 
However, we cannot mend it ; we can only do our duty ; and 
if Lotty loves Bear, and Bear loves Lotty, I dare say, whatever 
occurs, they will make themselves happy.” Bear kissed Lotty 
after canine fashion, in tokeu of perfect agreement in all she 
said ; and then Lotty passed with noiseless footfall into the 
sleeping apartment she shared with Margaret. 

The sound of a low voice made her pause on the threshold. 
Again were the fair fingers laced together, the upturned face 
and inspired eyes beholding a vision Lotty could not see, and 
from the parted lips came Margaret’s words, speaking to her 
Harold. If possible, more fervent, more urgent, more exalted 
than before were her looks aud words, making Lotty blush 
again with a vivid brightness. But she whispered to herself, — 

“ It matters not. She mourns her Harold as deeply as if she 
lost him yesterday. But wait we will, Bear.” 


CHAPTER L X X 1 1 . 

This Valentine’s-day rose dark, stormy, and snow-ridden. 
As Lotty peeped out of the window, the light of the caudle by 
which she was dressing made everything appear as if still 
wrapped in the gloom of a gusty night. 

u Heed it not Bear, we have been out in darker, more stormy 
mornings than this ; we will go into the cedar walk, until the 
day speaks out a little stronger. But after all, Bear, I do not 
think it is so bad — the candle deceived us.” 

As she spoke, she opened the door and passed out. A hand 
stayed her, and a voice, low but thrilling, said, as if it asked a 
momentous question, — 

“ Is this my Lotty?” 


AND RKf-t BRIRESM AIDS. 




u No, it is Mrs. Leigh,” answered she, with somewhat of the 
freezing morning in her tone. 

“ I hope Mrs. Leigh is quite well,” answered Basil, taking 
off his hat, and bowing with such extreme politeness, that a 
flock of little mad snow flakes, driven by the freaks of the wind, 
clutched hold of his fair curls to save themselves a further flight, 
and in their refuge found their death. 

“ Quite well, thank you, Basil ; and so is Margaret.” 

“ Lotty, I must walk with you,” exclaimed Basil ; his assumed 
manner vanishing. 

44 Pray do,” answered she. 

He drew her arm within his, and they passed on to the cedar 
walk. 

“ And so, Lotty, I am to have no better comfort than this, for 
acting the part of a dissembler, a hypocrite, the past year? ” 

44 Hypocrite ! how so ? ” 

44 Obliged to smother my real feelings, hide my heart’s 
wish, affect a coolness, that only created a still more burning 
love ” 

44 Don’t be absurd, Basil ! I will allow you have been very 
good — in fact, nothing could have succeeded better. Margaret 
imagines we do not care one straw for each other.” 

44 We ! thank you, Lotty ; if I can persuade you to grant me 
no more, I can live upon that 4 we ’ for some time.” 

44 It was a slip, Basil.” 

44 ’T was said; nothing can drive it from the place where 
memory has placed it. Now, Lotty, answer me- truly. Can 
you yet so wilfully deceive yourself as to think Margaret would 
marry again ? ” 

44 Not at present, certainly,” answered Lotty, blushing again, 
at the remembrance of Margaret’s constancy to the dead. 

44 And pray, how long will it take to convince you?” 

44 1 won’t be bullied, Lord Erlscourt.” 

44 1 feel very much inclined to take you in my arms and carry 
you off, you are so very wilful,” said he. 44 You were forced to 
marry once ” 

44 For shame, Basil ! Take example by that marriage ; if you 
want me to love you, abide my own time.” 

44 Concession the second. Thanks, Lotty ; remember, if I 
seem impatient, the prize I am trying for, and the utter unrea- 
sonableness of your ideas.” 

44 Wait until I have proved them such.” 

44 1 suppose,” continued he, 44 that you know, when Millicent 
returns, Miss Rachel is going to live with Margaret.” 


MARGARET 


44 No, I did not. Who arranged this?” 

44 I did ; and that is the reason I prevented her applying for 
the governess’s place at the school in Warrington. She shall be 
governess to young Harold and his sister, and Margaret’s com- 
panion.” 

44 1 am Margaret’s companion.” 

44 Yes, at present, and so is her mother. But, by-and-by, when 
God calls Lady Montagu to the home not made by hands, for 
which she is so fitted, and a certain wilful Lotty may plead 
Margaret’s lonely state as a reason for driving a faithful, loving- 
heart to despair, Miss Rachel will step in as the panacea to so 
much woe.” 

44 Men are so selfish,” answered she. 

44 In matters of the heart, Lotty, they ought to be, from justice 
to the merits of her they love. For my part, such is my opinion 
of the love that an honest and true heart should offer to another 
heart worthy of it, all the world must be as a grain of sand in 
comparison. When I am permitted to show my love, but the 
God who made her, and gave to me the priceless boon of her 
affections, shall have my adoration before her.” 

44 All that sounds remarkably fine ; keep it for a fitting occa- 
sion. Meantime, without much conceit, let me tell you, Lotty 
is Lotty to Margaret. No Rachel will take her place.” 

44 That is true ; in fact, though there is a wilful Lotty, a spoiled 
one, a childish one, a cruel, merciless, aggravating one, yet is 
there but one Lotty in the world, and she is matchless. Now 
do not turn away. I want to tell you, that it is as much for 
Margaret’s sake, as for any selfish motive of my own, that I 
have counselled her to offer Miss Rachel a permanent home.” 

44 Wherefore?” 

44 For this reason. There is between these two women a bond 
so peculiar, that it may be said to have been riveted together 
with the scalding tears of bitter agony, and therefore no human 
forge can sever the links. As Harold and the little sister sank 
together, hand in hand, leaving their earthly frames a prey to 
the remorseless sea, while their purified spirits rose at the same 
moment to the footstool of God ; so will these two mourning, 
but resigned hearts, go hand in hand through the world, each 
feeling that they are to be to the other a substitute for those they 
have lost ; each hoping to assist each other during the weary 
time they must wait God’s pleasure. Thus, Lotty, this bond 
between Margaret and Rachel in no one way affects her love for 
you. You will still be the bright spirit that will enliven her, th» 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


835 

Jink that will keep her feelings young, the happy medium through 
which light and flowers may yet bloom in her path. But Rachel 
— the sight of Rachel stirs her up, to be about and do the work 
allotted her — Rachel, whose 'little sister died a cruel death, her 
hand clasped in that of Margaret’s Harold, without a murmur.” 

“ I will never leave Margaret as long as she requires me.” 

“And I will never ask you to do so while that is the case. 
But, Lotty, say something kind to me, give me a little hope ; a 
word, nay, a look ; anything on which to think, on which, when 
I grow very impatient, I may ponder, and be content.” 

“Well, then, I think — yes, I am sure — I like you better 
than Flo.’s red-haired cousin.” 

“ Out on you, for the smallest yet most pungent morsel of 
cruelty ever man met ! ” 

“ Flo. is very generous in her proffers of friendship and hos- 
pitality. I get a letter once a month, asking me to go and live 
with her and dear Fred.” 

“ Fray go, if you wish it,” uttered Basil, resigning her arm. 

“ By-the-by, Basil, do take care, if we go to the sea-side this 
summer, that it is in some remote corner of the coast, where we 
cannot possibly be discovered by Carry and Flo. — But, O ! ye 
stars, if Margaret is not tapping at the window. How could 
you suffer me to be late for breakfast, Basil ? ” 

Basil was in no mood to respond, so he went in to greet Mar- 
garet, while Lotty ran up stairs to change her things. When 
she reappeared, so fresh and blooming, with a sad wicked spirit 
of mischief daiicing in her eyes, Margaret met her with very 
inquisitive looks, saying, eagerly, “ So you have been walking 
with Basil ? ” 

“ No,” said Lotty, “ he walked with me.” 

Margaret gazed from one to the other, in a little sort of flush 
of expectation ; but Basil was calmly cutting a loaf of breaff, 
and Lotty said, “ Lady Montagu, here are two violets.” 

“ I said, you would be sure to come to-day, Basil,” began 
Margaret ; “ not only because we are to lay the first stone of 
the new church, but because of Lotty’s birthday.” 

“ Is it your birthday, Mrs. Leigh ? ” said Basil, with an 
assumption of indifference, that would have done honor to a 
Spartan, while he helped himself to an egg with the utmost 
solicitude. 

“ I believe so,” answered Lotty, in a tone to match. 

“ I have to beg your pardon for bringing you no offering 
suitable to the day,” continued he, most wickedly ; for all th« 


MAittfARK? 


m 

time he had a certain parcel in his pocket, that was to have been 
given, if-- — A frown passed over his fair brow as this if 
intruded itself. 

u I will endeavor to survive without,” retorted Lotty. 

u Do you know you tease me very much, you two,” said Mar- 
9 garet. “ Did you not always think, mamma, that they were 
such friends ? ” 

“ The quarrels of friends are the renewal of love, my dear,” 
said Lady Montagu, quoting the proverb, for no particular idea 
that it was at all applicable. 

Lotty grew crimson. Basil glanced at her, and said, with the 
utmost composure, “ I think, Mrs. Leigh, you and I have not 
arrived at that point of interest, in which a quarrel might be 
said to affect us, either in love or malice.” 

“ I don’t wish to quarrel with you, Basil,” answered Lotty, 
recovering herself, “ and beg to announce the fault will be 
yours, not mine, if we do.” 

But in the course of the day she took occasion to whisper, 
u That was very well done on your part, Basil.” And so he 
departed the next day, with only that crumb of comfort, after 
assisting at the laying of the first stone of the church. 

The day had proved fair, in spite of its stormy commence- 
ment ; and no heart assisted at the good deed, which did not feel 
a solemn compact was made by Lady Leigh, that this church 
was but the beginning of many good works, which she meant to 
rear in memory to her Harold. Within this house of prayer, 
she would pray for strength to “ do justly, love mercy, and walk 
humbly with her God.” 


CHAPTER L X X 1 1 1 . 

HAPrY was the life at Rose Leigh. John Grey had been so 
charmed with the name of Pru., he was in the habit of doubling 
it. It was delightful to see the enjoyment of Lady Katherine ; 
experiencing, for the first time, the happiness of a real home, 
unshackled by forms and ceremonies. 

And as if to make amends to the world in general, and to her 
dependants in particular, for the stately reserve she had formerly 
kept up, she now opened her heart to everybody who would 
take the trouble of listening to her. We have seen that she was 


33T 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 

fond of talking at all times, though she would in earlier days 
talk only to those she deemed her equals. 

Now it was very different ; she had learned to consider herself 
but another morsel of dust, distinguished from countless others 
by little that was good, and more that was bad and unchristian- 
like. At least, such was her humble judgment of herself', 
without ever losing the impression that she had lost her son 
through her own pride and folly ; she yet only used this remem- 
brance as a spur to make her more kind, more humble, more 
charitable to every one. 

Under a stern and severe disciplinarian she would have become 
a rigid and penance-seeking devotee. U nder the gentle, wholesome 
doctrine of John Grey, she was being born again, receiving the 
sweet spirit of a little child. Even her countenance, her speech, 
the very rustle of her sti'ff silk dresses, showed the change. 
Who could have recognized the Lady Katherine of six years 
before? Never with any pretensions to beauty, yet with no 
particular bad feature, her appearance had been always rather 
forbidding from her expression of pride. Cold and stately, she 
never unbent ; severe and harsh upon little minor faults, more 
the result of habit than opinion, the eye that met hers trembled 
to think how she would visit sins and omissions, without being 
aware she had been taught to consider these minor faults as 
heinous crimes. 

Always painfully erect, and always giving voice to equally 
painful maxims, at the time when this story commences, Lady 
Katherine could not have pointed out a single person who loved 
her, out of her own circle ; and within that, to the very centre, 
not one who did not fear her. In addition to her harsh and 
unloving countenance, she had a very austere way of dressing : 
with marked features and strong lines, she did not permit her 
own gray hair to mellow down the ravages of time by its soft- 
ening influence on each side of her face, but had a wig of very 
shining black hair, that divided itself into straight black lines 
on her brown and wrinkled forehead, and then rolled itself, or 
was rolled, into three great curls, that for smoothness and com- 
pactness of shape, could be compared to nothing either elegant 
or graceful. Then her dresses were all so remarkably stiff and 
uncompromising, both in color and texture, that it was sufficient 
to hear them rustle to make her servants and children fly. But 
now the black wig was gone, and the smooth bands of soft, sil- 
ver hair came low on her faded cheek, with the edging of rich 
lace all round, making the withered face look fresh and comely 
29 


338 


MARGARET 


with so fair a frame. And the gentle, pleased expression that 
had taken the place of the cold, harsh air, did it not tell more 
than words can describe, that the sweet incense of a Christian 
heart was implanted within that erect frame ; a warm-hearted, 
childlike spirit now dwelt where only stately propriety had 
ruled ? 

It was remarkable that, whereas she had always found fault 
before, now she was always in a general buzz of praise. Every- 
body was so kind, everybody was so thoughtful, everybody 
seemed always to be doing just what was most proper towards 
everybody. Not the lowest servant about the plape, not the 
meanest beggar she ever saw, not the smallest child she met, 
but she addressed. Then would she dilate in the twilight 
evenings upon all he said, and she said, and they said, and John 
Grey would make comments thereon, while Pru. listened and 
hemmed small frills. Thus they spent pleasant evenings, and 
the old lady’s heart bloomed and expanded under this new and 
exciting species of life — at least, it was such to her who had 
been dead and cold before. This evening they had a great deal 
to talk about. 

It was in this manner these three people lived together ; and 
no wonder, with two such loving, innocent, simple companions, 
John Grey had all his own way, and twisted and turned them 
round in the most heartless manner. 

Suddenly a rival entered the peaceful home ; but John Grey, 
all unconscious of the hold he would gain over his Pru.-Pru.’s 
heart, welcomed his son with the greatest delight, while every- 
body who came to see the little stranger, exclaimed, u John 
Grey,” so quaintly and curiously like his father was he. As he 
sat by his pale wife’s bedside reading the Holy Scripture words 
to her, he could not but notice how her eyes dwelt fondly on this 
little image of himself. So kneeling down by the bedside, in 
a soft whisper, that she only could hear, he said, — 

“I thank Thee, O Father, for this new mercy ; for sparing 
the life more dear to me than my own ; for giving us another to 
bring up to thy service. And let the image she has so faith- 
fully given him, be a new impulse to me to cherish and be 
grateful for such love as hers.” 

The next event was Lotty’s return home from visiting her 
people, bringing Mr. and Mrs. Frank and the twins with her, 
and they were, like every one else, truly surprised and amazed 
at young John Grey. 

So the summer came on ; and as it passed away, Margaret 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


339 


caught herself wishing that the long days were longer still, she 
had so much to do : the education of her children, the care of 
her mother, the ordering of her household ; each and all were 
done, as if each were but the sole business she had. And joined 
to all these was the well-doing of her large estate, in which not 
even the cutting down of a tree occurred without her knowledge. 

As autumn approached, they had the prospect before them 
of welcoming home the long absent Millicent and Gerald. It 
was on a calm soft evening in October, that Margaret was 
under the walnut avenue, waiting the glad sight of their car- 
riage. Two other figures were strolling up the avenue as well, 
from whom came many a mirthful sound, and laughter such as 
rings from little silver bells in a sunshiny heart. 

“ How merry my little Lotty is ! ” thought Margaret, as the 
sounds rose up clear in the silent air, pealing up into the arches 
of the fine old trees. u And I — I am happy also ; yes, truly ! 
I bless God for my life of calm repose, yet never-ceasing em- 
ployment. Perhaps no rapturous delight is mine ; but then in 
tumultuous overflowing joy there must ever be reaction. We 
pay in some measure for an overplus. Life must be consistent ; 
an even quantity of joy and sorrow, feasting and mourning, is 
allotted to each of us, if we would but see it. I must be — I 
am grateful to thee, O God ! ” 

“ Margaret, Margaret, they are coming ! we see the car- 
riage ! ” exclaimed Lotty. 

In a few minutes they arrived. They were in each other’s 
arms. Warm, welcome kisses were given and exchanged. The 
length of their absence seemed atoned for by the delight of their 
return. 

****** 

IIow much they had to tell, to see, to rejoice at — how much 
to listen to, of the life and welfare of those they loved so well. 
Millicent was stronger and better than ever she had felt before, 
and showed her two little ones with pride and delight. A grave 
sorrow was in Gerald’s eyes ; it seemed habitual there ; but a 
gentle smile illumined his face, with an expression they remem- 
bered not in him. It was full of love and humility. - 

“ Lotty ! Margaret is almost like her old self,” said Milly, in 
• me of the numerous confidences that were taking place among 
them all. 

“Yes; is she not? I look forward to the time when my 
earliest thought or day-dream will be realized.” answered Lotty. 

“ What is that, Lotty ? ” 


340 


MARGARET 


44 You know it : at least, if you remember the green-house at 
Montagu Hall, the rooks going home to their dinner, the old 
Forest home.” 

44 I remember all this, and say, Basil. But still I cannot 
guess what you mean.” 

44 You and Margaret must be sisters, indeed.” 

44 Ah ! Lotty, I see it is true what Margaret says : you are 
changed.” 

44 In what way?” 

44 You must be changed, if you think Margaret would 

nay, I will not say it ; much as I honor and love my brother, 
highly as I venerate and esteem such a character, I trust lie will 
never cast a blot upon it, by seeking to marry Margaret. Tell me, 
Lotty, surely no such thought lias stained his upright mind ? ” 

44 Pray, why should it not ? what could be more natural, lov- 
ing her as he did from her childhood ? ” 

44 But, Margaret, our Queen Margaret ! faultless in all things, 
she will never — no, I will not believe it, and I wish I had de- 
layed my return home, if Basil intends ” 

44 Don’t worry yourself. Basil is very far from intending any- 
thing of the sort, to my sorrow. I do not like Margaret passing 
a long and lonely life.” 

44 It is not so to her. She has her mother, her children, her 
cares and estates, that charming Miss Rachel — lastly, and al- 
most least, you, Lotty.” 

44 IIow did Margaret tell you I was changed, Milly? ” 

44 She said you no longer laughed merrily, excepting the 
evening we came home ; that you buried yourself in your books, 
and had become pale and thin ; and besides, it was privately 
whispered to me, that there were strong symptoms the little 
Bear was come to life again.” 

44 Shall I give you a specimen of his ferocity now, Milly? ” 

44 No, thank you, dear. But, seriously, Margaret is unhappy 
about you. She thinks you are not pleased that she has taken 
Miss Rachel to live with her ” 

44 Nay, Heaven forbid ! Margaret must think her Lotty 
changed, if she deems her so base as that.” 

44 Then, what is it, Lotty ? ” 

44 1 will mend my manners, Milly, so that even Gerald shall 
say I am a true penitent. Think no more of my sins, and let 
us talk of other things.” 

44 As you like, Lotty. Basil met us at Liverpool, but he 
would not come on liej'e with us.” 


7 


AND HK8 BRIDESMAIDS. 


m 


44 That was unbrotherly.” 

“We are to spend Christmas with him, then perhaps he may 
return with us/’ 

44 Perhaps, as he will' have you to visit. 0 

“ Does he come often to see Margaret?” 

44 I believe so. Whenever she wants advice, he flies down 
on telegraphic wings, which, I presume, are quicker than winged 
ones now.” 

“ I thought he had grown handsomer than ever, Lotty.” 

44 1 have not seen him these eight or nine months, I believe ; 
unluckily, I was always absent when he came.” 

44 You believe ! liow coldly you talk, and so fond of Basil as 
you used to be.” 

44 Yes,” said Lotty, yawning, 44 that was when I was a school, 
girl ; I have become very fond of botany now, and I want Mar- 
garet to go to Wales : in Brecknockshire I hear you can find 
almost every rare wild flower or fern known in great Britain. 
Think of that, now, Milly.” 

44 Lotty, Lotty ! you are a changeling.’ ’ 

44 Both Lotties love you, so do not be angry.” • 

****** 

And so at last they all settled into their usual places, and no 
event of any importance occurred, but that Lotty’s mood changed 
again : from being a cross little irritable Bear, she was now so 
subdued, so gentle, so loving, in all her ways, no one knew how 
to make enough of her. 

44 Bairn, bairn ! what for dinna ye clack on wi’ yer bit pratty 
ways?” said Mrs, Laird, who half disliked her change. 44 Ye’re 
sae saft and sa douce like, and yer een aye. fill wi’ tears at the 
first word ; bairn, ye hae getten a luik like as of anither warld, 
and I wad I might be in my cauld grave, ere I lost sight o’ ye, 
for ye air just the darling of old Janet Laird’s heart.” 

44 After a naughty fit, it is time to be good, Mammy Laird,” 
answered Lotty. 

44 Naughty ! Weel, bairn, when ye do harm to ere a body in 
this wicked warld, Janet Laird will turn highway-woman. Ye 
hae a trouble in yer heart, bairn ? ” 

44 Yes, Bear is getting lazy, and loves the fire more than 
Lotty.” 

Bear arose, and laying his beautiful head on Lotty’s lap, en- 
deavored to blink and wink an indignant denial. 

44 Aye me ! but thon doggie gets mair sensible day by day — 
he’ll be speaking sune. And sae ye wunna tell me yer trouble ?” 


m 


MABGABET 


44 I have none, but ” 

44 What noo, my heart’s bairn?” 

44 Suppose I should leave you, and go away, would you love 
me still?” 

Mrs. Laird at first sat down stunned, and then she cried bit- 
terly : suddenly, looking at Lofty’s face, and seeing it half blushes 
and half smiles, a light broke into her mind, illuminating the 
strong Scotch features, bedewed with great tears. 

44 The Lord bfess us ! No possible, bairn. Bairn, dinna rin 
like that. Joost what the doctor and me’s been a-praying for. 
Hoot ! the lassie’s gane aff like the sna drift, and I’ll no catcli 
her. She’s joost a bit fairy, wi’ her tricks. But I’ll aye abide 
her time. My certie, I’ll blithely bide a wee, and whatten a 
gay laugh I’ll hae at the doctor.” 

44 Lotty, love,” said Margaret, 44 why do you make me love 
you so much? Suppose I had to part from you.” 

44 You would miss me, then? ” 

44 Miss you ! my best and dearest Lotty ? Ask the flowers if 
they bloom without their sunbeams ; ask the birds if they would 
sing \fithout their mates.” 

44 Say the word then, and Lotty is yours for life.” 

44 Only in one way could I bear to lose you, Lotty, and that 
would be no loss, but a blessed gain to me. Two friends doubled 
fourfold by being one.” 

44 A match-maker ! Margaret a match-maker ! Since you 
have broached such an extraordinary subject for you, let me ask 
you why may not I have the same delight ? ” 

44 I do not understand you, Lotty.” 

44 Long ago, nay, when we were yet both at school, I built a 
fairy castle, in which my Margaret reigned Queen, and ” 

44 Go on, Lotty.” 

44 Basil, King, dear Meg,” said Lotty, in a low voice. 

44 Like all school-girls’ castles, that was fitly knocked down, 
Lotty.” 

44 Yes, for a time ; but now I should like to rebuild it.” 

44 Is this Lotty speaking to Margaret?” 

44 Yes, and she wishes an answer.” 

44 How do people answer insults? How am I? Can it indeed 
be Lotty, my Lotty, who gives me this wound?” and Margaret’s 
face crimsoned with an anger and indignation beautiful to see. 

Lotty’s eyes were fixed on her ; her own face pale as marble. 

44 Do you know what love is, child?” continued Margaret, 
with a sort of pitying scorn. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


“ Yes, for you,” breathed Lotty, low and soft. 

44 Love ! where Death’s grim, cold clutch is as the touch of 
your first child’s lips, so he spares the beloved one. Love ! that 
pervades the heart, until earth, sea, sky, and universe seem too 
small to hold it. A love that the grave so hallows, the lonely 
one lives on faithfulness, and requires no other food. But stay, 
you never loved, Lotty.” 

44 I ha've a love within me,” answered Lotty, 44 more strong than 
rhat ; for life is a trifle to offer at its shrine, in comparison to 
what I am ready to give. Now, answer me but this one question, 
Margaret, then spurn your Lotty if you will. You are now 
twenty-four years of age ; you have a long life before you. You 
are full of woman’s best and sweetest virtues, more fitted than 
any one I ever saw for wife and mother. Say, can you doom 
to a desolate hearth and lonely home a man whom you have 
known and liked from childhood ; whose nature is so true to 
your own ; who gave his young heart, as you know, into your 
keeping, until forced to tear its very life-pulse out ; whose every 
thought is noble and good ; who is bound to you by ties of cordial 
sympathy, and by the joint interest of your children ; say, Mar- 
garet, would you refuse to marry this man ? ” 

44 Did Lord Erlscourt desire you to speak to me? ” answered 
Margaret, in a voice so strange, so cold, Lotty looked up in 
wonder. 

44 No ! O no ! ” exclaimed Lotty. 44 Basil knows nothing ; I 
ask for myself alone.” 

44 I thank God, yes, I thank thee, O God ! that he still remains 
the friend and brother I require. How could I doubt him ? ” 
continued Margaret joyfully ; 44 how could I belie for one moment 
his noble nature ? But for you, you, Lotty, who ought to have 
known better than even Basil himself, that if Margaret loved 
once, it was forever ; but in that love she cast all she had ; how 
am I to answer you? The natural love of a mother binds me 
to life ; the bounty and mercy of God have given me tasks^o do, 
which leave but little time for murmurings. I am blest m the 
hope of executing all my Harold’s wishes, leaving his name 
untarnished and his children beloved. I am twice gifted in 
having the affections of those around me, and bestowing on 
them in return all the love I have left. I say in the morning, 
‘ Praise God ; ’ and at night I whisper my prayer of thanks- 
giving for a contented heart, a cheerful spirit. I go about the 
world, I enter with pleasure into all that interests others. Yet, 
Lotty, 


m 


MARGARET 


“ * Neither the angeh that live in heaven above, 

Or the demons down under the sea, 

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul ’ 

of my Harold. You arc answered. Farewell ! M 

Margaret turned away, her fair face flushed and excited, her 
step and air like a mourning, injured queen ; but already the 
inspired eyes looked up into the viewless air, and ere Lotty lost 
sight of her, the fair fingers laced themselves together. Mar- 
garet was in spirit communing with her Harold. 

44 She will forgive me soon,” murmured Lotty ; 44 she will 
guess her Lotty had a motive.” And she went and sat down in 
one of the quaint old summer-houses which commanded a view 
of the path Margaret had taken. Bear showed no sort of sym- 
pathy with Lotty’s silent mood, but gambolled about in high 
gusto, as if all the world were charmed with each other, and 
no breeze had heard the first words of estrangement between 
Margaret and Lotty. 

A soft, hurried light was in Lctty’s eyes, and a smile came to 
her lips as she heard the words, 44 Lotty ! Lotty ! ” rising on the 
air. Margaret had not been gone half an hour, after taking that 
leave of Lotty, almost, as it were forever, and here she was fly- 
ing back with swift footfall, calling on her urgently. 

Lotty came forward, slowly and shyly. But the instant Mar- 
garet saw her, she ran to her, and lifting up the little blushing 
face, kissed it again and again, saying, 44 1 wondered, and was 
so hurt, so vexed, and I cried bitterly, and I said, 4 that Lotty 
should think thus of me, Lotty who loves me so.* Then came 
her words ringing into my memory, as if pealed from the boughs 
above me : 4 1 have a love within me, more strong than yours, 
for life is a trifle to offer at its shrine, in comparison to what I 
am ready to give.’ I believe it. Thank God ! Lotty, I need 
not the sacrifice. Now, you know this, you feel it — nay, turn 
not away, but bless your Margaret by saying you are happy.” 

44 1 am happy.” 

44 1 know all now,” said Margaret, going on ; 44 everything 
is plain, that was so enigmatical before. But, Lotty, dearest, 
most unselfish, most matchless Lotty, now my castle will be 
built, my dream will come true ; your Margaret’s only wish will 
be gratified. But when may I speak openly ? I feel sure you 
have been a cruel, remorseless, unfeeling Lotty, and you must 
be brought to reason immediately.” 

44 Now don’t, Meg ; how could I think you would be so 
silly?” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


845 


“I like to be silly — I will be so. Ah, Bear ! your day is 

over. Do not fancy you are the best beloved ” 

“ No ! ” interrupted Lotty, hastily. “ Bear knows that Lotty 
is silly enough to like an unkind Margaret the best.” 

“ I will not be unkind. No, Bear ; for the first and last time, 
Margaret and Lotty have misunderstood each other ; and time is 
too precious for me to suffer a moment of estrangement now. 
Who knows how soon I may lose her? Who can tell what 
changes a day may bring forth ? As the miser hoards his gold, 
as the prisoner cherishes the fresh air, so must I hold and love 
my treasure while she is mine.” 

“ I will never leave you, if you wish it, Queen Meg.” 

“ Perhaps I may demand the sacrifice ; but wait until I do.” 


CHAPTER LXXIV. 

So the fourteenth of February came again. 

“ My Lotty, are you not early? the clock has only just struck 
six,” said the sleepy Margaret, as Lotty rose to take her morn- 
ing’s walk. 

“ Good night, then, and go to sleep again,” answered Lotty ; 
“because, Bear,” continued she, when in her dressing-room, 
“ we must get out of the way, and hide ourselves. It won’t do 
for us to go and meet anybody this morning — we must be there 
first.” 

But somebody seemed to know with whom he had to deal. 
For, again, as Lotty passed out in the dark morning, did she 
hear the words, low and tender, — 

“ Is this my Lotty ? ” 

Bear gave a short, deep tone of recognition and delight, — a 
mode of expression he never indulged in but on extraordinary 
occasions. But there was no other sound. 

“ Is this my Lotty?” again was heard, in accents this time 
troubled and sad. 

A little hand was put into Basil’s ; he clasped it with a force 
that almost crushed it Wo nothing, and, with a cry of irresisti- 
ble happiness, drew the Slight form, for one brief moment, close 
to his heart. Then, with one arm round her, he bore her 
swiftly to the cedar walk. There, on that Valentine’s Day, be- 


846 


MARGARET 


fore even the birds were awake to settle their own betrothments, 
words of love and vows of constancy had been given and ex- 
changed ; and the sun broke out in high refulgence, as if to rat- 
ify the contract with his bright presence. 

Margaret had not followed Lotty’s advice, and turned to sleep 
again. On the contrary, she also rose early, and as the lovers 
crossed the lawn from the cedar walk, they saw her sweet face 
anxiously watching from the breakfast-room window. They 
could see her happy start, they knew she disappeared only to 
meet them at the garden door, and, ere they thought she could 
be there, she was out, shawlless and bonnetless, but glowing 
with so much delight, she heeded not the keen February air. 

u My Lotty ! — dear Basil ! — tell me quickly, am I to asso- 
ciate evermore two such loved names as one ? ” 

u I have caught her at last, Margaret ; but, unless I have 

your help, she may escape me yet ; she is the most wilful ” 

“ Dearest, sweetest, best Lotty in the world,” interrupted 
Margaret. 

u I grant it, she is all that, and much more, and I will tell her 
so, as soon as ever she has told you she loves me. I must have 
a witness, Margaret ; and until your hear her say it, I am not 
sure of her.” 

“ You must give her time, Basil.” 

u Time, dear Margaret ! I asked her to marry me two years 
ago, and she has never vouchsafed me a civil word or kind look 
since. Judge if I have not reason to be alarmed.” 

All this time, it was beautiful to see Margaret caressing and 
fondling the little blushing, shy tiling, and most wonderful to 
behold the glowing delight of Basil, expressed in his radiant 
eyes and smiles. But Lotty would say nothing he required. 
She said, “Bear loved him, and she did not dislike him ;” and 
with that he was forced to be couteut. 

. So now Margaret took Lotty up stairs, that she might take 
otf her walking things, and prepare for breakfast ; and she hov- 
ered about her, and waited upon her, as a nurse waits upon the 
petted child. 

“ Two years ! — how could you be so cruel, Lotty ? ” 
u I did not know — I could not tell — T have been very un- 
happy,” murmured Lotty. 

“ Ah, my best one, all for me ! H$i\v lucky it was that I was 
so hurt and angry. Then you must liave been convinced. But 
turn. Lotty, look at me with your dear, most truthful eyes. 
Confess to your Margaret that now you know what love is. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


347 


Now you can feel that all slie said was the living, naked truth. 
Once love truly, ’tis love forever. Now comfort your Margaret 
by saying you feel and know it ; then she will forgive herself for 
ever being cross to her Lotty, or misunderstanding her.” 

“ I feel, I know it,” whispered Lotty, blushing and trembling, 
and then trying to look defiant and indifferent. 

“ Of all the things that could happen to me in this world, 
nothing ever pleased me more, or could benefit me so much. 
Don’t you see, Lotty, you have now given me a real brother ? 
Now I may make use of Basil’s services twice as much again as 
1 have lately done, because, you know, Lotty, the world is such 
a strange one — so rude, so far from generous.” 

“ There is the breakfast-bell, Queen Meg.” 

They went down together, and, as they opened the door, Basil 
met them. Lady Montagu and Miss Rachel were also in the 
room. Without the smallest preparation, but with the greatest 
coolness, and, as Lof ty afterwards said, “ impudence,” Basil at 
once took her hand, and leading her up to the two ladies, said, 
“ Allow me to introduce to you my future wife. I am obliged 
to do this,” continued he, apologetically, “ not only because I 
am impatient for all the world to congratulate me on my happi- 
ness, but I wish it to be as publicly known as possible, that she 
may not retract.” 

They were quite as much charmed as he meant them to be, 
and in the state of excitement into which they all fell, breakfast 
ran great danger of being utterly forgotten. 

“ But I cannot think, Basil, why you have been so cold and 
indifferent to her all this time,” said Lady Montagu, “ telling 
me, as you do, how long you have loved her.” 

“ I was obeying her wishes, as I supposed. She had a pur- 
pose in her heart, and I had one in mine. We each took our 
own methods of fulfilling our secret wishes, and I certainly think 
I have shortened my probation by the excessive care I took to 
show I was indifferent to her. Now, my Lotty, confess, the 
more I was a wretch and hypocrite, the more you thanked and 
loved me ! ” 

“ You will upset the crcam-jug, if you are so fidgety,” was 
all Lotty’s answer. 

“ Margaret, have you any message to Rose Leigh? I must 
run across for a private business of my own.” 

Now, Basil,” began Lotty. 

“What, my Lofty?” answered he, turning his beaming, 
•miling' eyes upon her, and enjoying her confusion. “ Nay, you 


348 


MARGARET 


must let me be the bearer of my own good news. You have had 
your way for two years ; give me this one day, and you shall 
have two years more.” 

“ A bargain,” said Lotty. 

“ We will seal it,” answered he, “ on a fitting occasion.” 

As Basil entered the drawing-room at Rose Leigh, every one 
of the inmates exclaimed, as they looked at him. 

“ What good news do you bring us? ” said Lady Katherine. 

“Dear, dear ! — what charming thing has happened?” said Pru. 

“ He is going to be married !” cried John Grey ; and to add 
force to his words, down went his hand with such hearty good 
will on the table, that all the cups, saucers, spoons, and forks 
skipped up in indignation. 

“ Nothing but matrimony could make him look thus ; I did 
just the same, my Pru. -Pru.” 

“ He does lock happy,” said Lady Katherine ; “ but I hope he 
is not going to be married ; avc cannot spare him to a stranger.” 

u It is not a stranger,” said Basil, more radiant than ever. 

“Mrs. Leigh,” exclaimed John Grey; and down went the 
hand on the table again, and the forks and spoons skipped 
higher than before. 

“ Lotty, sweet, dear, darling Lotty ! Say it is Lotty, and none 
will rejoice as we do.” 

Of course, they must instantly start off to kiss and bless her. 

“ Wait for your wrapper, mamma,” urged Pru. 

“ Stay, my Pru.-Pru., until I procure your clogs,” commanded 
John Grey. 

“ I must go at once to bless the darling child ! ” exclaimed 
Lady Katherine. 

“ My sweet, darling Lotty ! ” said Pru., half crying, half 
laughing. 

But Margaret knew what they would wish, and had antici- 
pated them. There she was in the door-way, and behind they 
caught a glimpse of a little figure. How she was kissed, con- 
gratulated, and blessed ! How they wondered, and rejoiced, and 
chattered ; leading one to imagine that Lotty had been born* for 
no other purpose than to marry Lord Erlscourt, and that the 
whole world had leagued themselves in terrible array, for 
months and years, to prevent the marriage. But that he, with 
the courage and fortitude of the celebrated young man in the 
Arabian Nights, had surmounted time, difficulties, and troubles, 
as great as his, in the journey to the unknown islands of Wak- 
Wak, and like him, had rescued and recovered his winged and 
beautiful bride. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS, 


349 


CHAPTER L X X V . 

u I wish to know, Basil, how you came to think of loving 
me ? ” asked Lotty. 

“ I wish to know, my Lotty, how I could help it? ” said Basil 
in return. 

“ But you knew very little of me before ; that is, you know, 
you had so many things on which to bestow your attention, I 
never imagined you had any for me.” 

“ I am sorry to make myself out such a hypocrite then, for I 
do not think I ever missed a word you said, or anything you did. 
I am too happy now to tell you what I endured when I heard 
of that hasty marriage ; for I then found out that I was not 
smitten with your prettiness, or your sweet wilful ways, but 
that I had reckoned upon trying to win the affections that would 
be to me the true and only panacea for my early disappoint- 
ment.” 

“ Ah, don’t be too sure. You cannot think how wicked I can 
be, if I choose.” 

“ Be as wicked as you like, I shall only be too glad to punish 
you, and I shall be very glad if you will give me a specimen 
now, as I have a punishment all ready, which I am dying to 
inflict.” 

“ Nay, tell me the punishment first.” 

“ I should carry you off to church, and marry you on the 
spot.” 

“ That is too severe. I am sure Flo. would pity me, if again 
I had no opportunity of being married in a grand dress, and 
having a trousseau.” 

“ Do you know, Lotty, I feel for once in my life pleased with 
and grateful to Mrs. Bankes. The alternative between her offer 
and mine, I imagine, gave me a favorable lift, at a time I most 
required it, for you are so wilful, Lotty.” 

“ I see no wilfulness in my wish not to burden you with a 
wife, whom, perhaps, after a year’s marriage, you would have 
discovered you did not love as you loved before.” 

“ Come, now, that is a very wicked speech ; you must be 
punished.” 

“ Bear, Bear ! ” cried Lotty, struggling from his grasp. 

“ It- is of no use your calling Bear, for he has been my 
30 


350 


MARGARET 


confidant these two years, and gave his consent long before you 
did.” 

u I won’t submit to be kissed in the public road, whenever 
you choose.” 

u Then I will wait until we get into Mrs. Laird’s drawing- 
room, for punished you must be.” 

Lotty, however, gained the victory ; for, instead of following 
him into the drawing-room, she was up the stairs and out of 
sight before he could catch her. 

Mrs. Laird, upon hearing the news, sat down and cried like 
a child, which she said was all for joy. 

Then they all adjourned to Court Leigh, and there the business 
of the day began. Lotty was to receive her presents, and read 
innumerable letters, while many more had to be written, so that 
Basil grew very impatient at all this monopolizing of his Lotty. 

When the dinner hour approached, Mr. and Mrs. Laird ap- 
peared — she in brilliant satin and Limerick lace cap, and he in 
his best apparel, with his wig put on quite straight, to do honor 
to the day. 

“ My bairn, what hae ye gotten in that bonnie box?” said 
Mrs. Laird, as she took her wrapper off, in Lotty’s room. 

“ Lord Erlscourt’s birthday present, ma’am, to me.” 

u And whatna a sort of present is it, my bonnie bairn? ” said 
Mrs. Laird, eagerly. 

“ I have not looked at it yet?” 

u Ech me, to hear that noo ! For my sake open it, and let 
me see, bairn.” 

Lotty drew forth a long necklace of golden links, that matched 
her bracelets ; but like dew-drops on a hot summer’s night, lay 
a lustrous diamond on each link. 

“ Ech me, but yon man’s a princely giver ! My word, but 
them’s matchless, bairn, and sae just fitting for you ! ” 

The little, small, white throat gleamed with sparkling beauty, 
for Mrs. Laird insisted on her wearing it this one night. And 
as they looked at and admired the way in which the bright 
circlet set off Lotty’s fairy beauty, Mrs. Laird whispered to my 
Lord, — 

“ I dinna think, my Laird, ye hae matched her eyes, yet.” 

“ I quite agree with you,” said he in return. 

* * * * * ' * 

The state of commotion into which the Beauvillian line fell, 
was wonderful. This was a proper match for their girl. It 
should be celebrated as such a marriage deserved. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


851 


The settlements offered by Lord Erlscourt were munificent. 
What they meant to give back in return should be proportion* 
ate. But above all things in the world, one thing pleased them 
— their girl looked radiantly happy, and she had whispered in 
her brother Norman’s ear that she loved at last. Nothing 
should mar the celebration of this wedding, at all events. It 
was to take place at the village church of Beau Court. Her 
eldest brother charged himself with all the arrangements and 
expenses thereof, while other brothers took other duties, and 
uncles and cousins came in to help. And while all these events 
were occurring, and the whole country in a commotion, there 
sat in a little back street in London, in a little dingy parlor, 
a lady, — that is, she did not look much like a lady, for she was 
in a dressing-gown, with disordered/hair, slippers down at heel, 
and what appeared to be an unwashed face ; and she was warm 
ing herself by the fire, seated in anything but an elegant atti- 
tude, and reading the newspaper with anything but amiable 
feelings. 

“ Humph ! Here is our old gentleman appointed one of the 
governors of the Bank of England, and yet he suffers a son like 
Fred, to live in such odious lodgings, with half the pittance we 
ought to have, because we got a little into debt. It is all very 
well Fred, saying that he helped us three times, and that he 
Avon’t sit and listen to me abusing his father, — but he shall 
hear my mind. I am not going to be drowned by any of them. 
I have made him suffer pretty well for not allowing me that new 
bonnet ; though, to be sure, I have found it very dull moping 
here all by myself of an evening. But it is no fault of mine. 
He said I should not have the bonnet, because his father would 
think his promises of retrenchment false if he saw me going 
about with such a handsome thing — .and so it was, a love, and 
so becoming. And I said he should have no dinner until I 
had it. No more he shall, here. He may go and dine on a 
miserable mutton-chop in the city, for I have taken good care he 
shall notf have above a shilling in his pocket when he goes out, 
that I may be able to tell his stingy old father that I am econom- 
ical, at all events. Jupiter Ammon ! what do I see in the court 
news 

“ 4 Lord Erlscourt about to lead to the hymeneal altar the 
beautiful Mrs. Leigh, of High Leigh, Cheshire.’ 

“ The little, sly, unkind thing ! Never to tell me, or to say 
one word. Or I wonder has she cut Margaret out. Dear me ! 
Perhaps it is a mistake. No ! it cannot be. They say, early in 


852 MARGARET 

May, the marriage takes place. I will write her — to be sure 1 
will ; I will offer my services to select her trousseau. This time 
it will be a fitting one, I hope. I will write her such a letter, 
that she cannot help asking me to the wedding. Then I must 
have that bonnet to go there. I will send a note into the city to 
Fred., to say he may come to dinner — poor fellow ! I long to 
talk over the news with him. I will send out uow and get him 
a nice beefsteak, and a slice of cod, to be ready by half past six, 
with some scalloped oysters. Won’t he enjoy it?” 

Mrs. Bankes did all she intended, and welcomed dear Fred, 
very warmly. But she was disappointed in seeing him enjoy 
the feast she had prepared for him. He hardly tasted a mouth- 
ful of fish, he said it was so woolly ; and he turned up his nose 
* at the beefsteak — there was no Worcester sauce to it ; and the 
scalloped oysters had no cayenne pepper in them. 

“ Why, Fred., after dining on nothing in the city for the last 
three days, I certainly thought you would have been grateful for 
this nice feast that I had prepared for you.” 

“ I did not dine in the city.” 

“ Good heavens ! I hope you have not been running up a bill 
at some club.” 

“ No, of course not ; I always dined with my father.” 

We will draw a veil over Mrs. Bankes’s discomfiture. 

No wonder “ dear Fred.” could eat nothing at home. 

Pere Bankes was celebrated even in London for his French 
cook. 


CHAPTER LX XV I . 

Gerald, at Lotty’s request, was to marry them. But Basil 
said he must have John Grey to “assist,” because, without 
regarding the fashion, as it now seemed to be, he deemed it 
would certainly require the offices of two clergymen to biud 
such a little myth, such a wilful, wayward thing, in the bands 
of holy matrimony. 

“ But,” said John Grey, “ I have heard a strange story, a 
word missed — or rather not heard — it is thought, unuttered in 
the marriage service ; I give due notice, unless I hear every 
syllable distinct and plain, I shut my book and ” 

“ Make yourself very disagreeable,” retorted Lotty. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


36S 


“ I shall do it,’’ said the good John, his eyes twinkling, “ as 
lure as I love my Pru.-Pru.” 

“ There is an idea running loose about the world, which ven- 
tures to insinuate you love Lady Katherine more than Pru.-Pru.” 

“An idea I glory in,” laughed he. “ I must away to tell it 
to my Pru.-Pru.” 

Lotty duly received Mrs. Bankes’s letter, and returned for 
answer, that she was much obliged for all her kind congratula- 
tions and offers of assistance. But she was sure Flo. would be 
glad to hear she was having a very proper and correct trousseau 
prepared Tor her ; and believed that this time she should cer- 
tainly be married in a wedding-dress. Nevertheless, she took 
no notice of the broad hint, purporting Mrs. Bankes’s ready 
acceptance of an invitation to the interesting ceremony. 

So Mrs. Bankes wrote again ; and this time pointedly ex- 
pressed her ardent wish to be present, on an occasion so pecul- 
iarly trying to her dearest and ever-beloved Lotty ; and wound 
up with a list of the various talents she could bring to bear, so 
as to render her presence both agreeable and highly convenient. 
Whereupon Lotty returned for answer, that she had no power to 
give any invitations, and recommended Flo. to comfort herself 
with the reflection, that it must necessarily be a very indifferent 
sort of an affair, because of her having been married before. 
No white gloves, no white dress,' no favors, not even bride-cake. 
She was sure she was doing a kind act, sparing Flo. the inflic- 
tion of witnessing such a mutilated ceremony, &c., &c. 

But the good Beauvillians were not at all disposed to be 
inhospitable on such an occasion, and had already settled that 
every single individual who had ever had a liking, or glimpse, 
or interest in “their girl” should be invited, even if all her 
schoolfellows chose to be of the number. They had room 
enough and to spare among the numerous kindred ; and accord- 
ingly upon Mrs. Frank fell the lot to invite not only Mr. and 
Mrs. Bankes, but Mr. and Mrs. Royston. 

When Carry first received the invitation, a little clause had 
been somewhat advisedly inserted in the letter. “ So large an 
assemblage was expected, Mrs. Frank was much afraid she had 
no room to spare for children ; in fact, if possible (she must 
beg them to excuse her apparent inhospitality through the 
urgency of the peculiar circumstance), she would be greatly 
obliged if they brought but one servant.” 

No children ! For the first time in her life since she had been 
a mother, was such a proposal made to her. Of course she 


MARGARET 


354 

could not go. The grandest wedding in the world would not 
tempt her to leave her darlings. 

“ I wish you would accept it, Carry, dear,” said her husband, 
with an eagerness rather unusual in him. 

“ What ! can you leave your horses and dogs ? ” demanded she. 

“Yes, Carry, I have taken a great fancy to go, and you will 
oblige me much by accepting the invitation. I can assure you, 
it is a sad life I lead, going about from place to place, as if 1 
was a bachelor, and had neither wife nor children.” 

Carry’s heart smote her, as she heard these unwonted tones 
from her rough ’squire. 

“ I will accept ; and then if any of the children should be ill, 
or likely to fret, you can take my excuses.” 

“ Thank you, Carry, for conceding so much,” answered he, 
rewarding her after his own boisterous fashion. 

Perhaps ’Squire Royston would not have succeeded in his 
wishes, but for a letter Carry received from Flo., as follows • — 

“ My dear Caroline : 

“ Of course you have heard of the splendid match my dear 
Lotty is about to make. The ceremony is to take place, after 
Easter, on the 23d of April, and I am extremely busy prepar- 
ing all my little matters. For, of course, dearest Lotty insists 
on my attending the wedding, which, however inconvenient, 1 
could not deny her. You may rely upon my sending you every 
particular ; I shall make a point of writing to you immediately 
after the ceremony, which you may be sure shall lose nothing in 
eclat from my presence. I hear that all the world are asked, 
and every house in the neighborhood is to be crammed ; but, 
of course, I shall be near the bride — in fact, under the same 
roof. I suppose you will not leave the darling children, other- 
wise, I dare say, I could get you an invitation. However, be 
assured I will not^forget you, and remain ever, your affectionate 
schoolfellow and friend, Florentia Bankes.” 

Flo. always signed herself thus, when on “ stilts,” as Lotty 
termed her grand modes. 

“ Upon my word ! ” exclaimed Mr. Royston, indignantly, after 

reading the letter, “ if that is not the most impudent ” But 

perhaps it is as well to leave to the imagination all the ’squire 
said. “ Now, Carry, if you don’t go, after reading that letter, 
I — I’ll — yes, I will ; that is, I shall have to go and horsewhip 
Bankes.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


355 


‘*0, dear Robert, be calm, lie might call you out — there 
might be a duel ; if my poor children should be fatherless ” 

k ‘ Come, don’t cry ; as regards my fatherly attentions, they 
won’t miss much, but that is your own fault, Carry. I am not 
allowed to touch my children, lest I should crack ’em or damage 
em.” 

“ I think I will certainly accompany you now, Robert ; that 
is, if all the darlings remain well.” 

“ I devoutly hope they will, then ; and I’ll tell you what I’ll 
do. As we are only to take one servant, that will be your maid, 
of course, and I will leave my man, Bendeth, to ride every 
morning to the station, and telegraph down how the young pups 
are.” 

' “Pups!” 

u Children, I mean, Carry.” 

“0! thank you, dear Robert — how thoughtful and kind of 
you. Certainly, I promise to go now. I like Flo.’s imperti- 
nence, indeed ; Lotty was quite as partial to me as to her.” 

“ She is not what I take her to be, if she is not a deal more 
fond of you. That Mrs. Bankes is ” But again we pause. 

So the important day came ; they were invited to appear on 
'f the 20th, that they might have three days’ enjoyment of Lotty’s 
society beforehand. 

Lucky it was for the ’squire, that they were soon puffing 
jaway on the railroad ; for the first half hour Carry was very 
tearful, and had she been in an ordinary carriage with horses, 
might have turned back. But he ensconced her safely in a first- 
class, and was so attentive, and endeavored to make himself so 
agreeable, that having a really tender heart, Carry could not but 
dry up her tears and be comforted, out of very gratitude for 
such unwonted exertions on the ’squire’s part. 

By and by the excitement of the journey, the freedom from 
maternal anxieties, the number of miles that were now inevita- 
bly placed between her and her darlings, had their due effect, 
and she began to smile and enjoy herself quite like the Carry of 
bridal days. 

“ I say, Carry, I never told you what I did, my last trip to 
town. I know you seldom think of yourself, so I went to your 
milliner’s, and ordered you a few nice dresses, and head-gear, 
and such like. Of course, I did not venture to use my own taste, 
but I told Mrs. Atkins, if you liked them, and looked nice in 
them, I would pay her bill within the month ; but if she palmed 
off* any of her trash to me, she might whistle for her money for 
the next two years. That’s the way I serve my tailor, Carrv.” 


856 


MARGARET 


“ O Robert, how kind you are ! Why, I always thought you 
cared for nothing but horses and dogs.” 

“ Humph ! Well, I am rather given that way ; but still, 
does it not strike you, Carry, that a change comes over one now 
and then ? I don’t think I can pass all my life in the dog and 
horse line, eh, Carry ? ” 

“ No, Robert, I should hope not.” 

“ And yet, Carry, when I do stop at home, what happens? ” 

Carry blushed, and was uneasy. 

“ Never mind, I don’t want to upbraid. If you are pretty 
happy this visit, perhaps you and I may come to some sort of a 
bargain for the future, and each give way a little. But here is 
Swindon — now what .will you have ? ” 

“Nothing, thank you.” 

“ Then I’ll go and see after the luggage, and get a glass of 
wine for myself.” 

He, however, soon came back, his handkerchief almost con- 
cealing his face, while he indulged in hearty but suppressed 
laughing. 

“ They are here, Carry, in the train with us. By the Lord 
Harry ! I would not miss her seeing you at Gloucester for a 
mint of money ; keep close, Carry, we will have a Siddonain 
scene then. It was so lucky she is such a chatterpie. I was 
just going into the refreshment-room, when I heard her ha- 
ranguing poor ‘ Fred.’ Such a dressing as she gave him, for 
leaving her exposed to the gaze of the multitude. She had 
brought a maid with her — it was her business to look after the 
luggage, not his. Heaven help that poor little mannikin ! he is 
properly henpecked.” 

The ’squire was so pleased with the idea of what was to come, 
that he had not ceased laughing when they arrived. Carry hav- 
ing the advantage of foreknowledge, was fully prepared for the 
interview at Gloucester station ; but Flo.’s start and exclama- 
tion fully answered Mr. Royston’s expectations. 

“ My heavens, Carry ! what are you doing here? ” 

“ I am on my way to Lotty’s wedding,” answered Carry, 
composedly. 

“ And who asked you?” exclaimed Flo., with an effort, en- 
deavoring to hide her discomfiture. 

“The same person that asked you — Mrs. Frank Beauvil- 
liers. I thought it useless to answer your letter, as I should 
have the pleasure of seeing you soon,” continued Carry, with 
spirit. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


857 


Flo. was for once silenced and put down. But not for long. 

“ Flo.,” said Mr. Bankes, u how many boxes have you?” 

“ Fire,” she answered. 

“ Then one has gone to Exeter ; it was all your fault ” 

“ Gracious heavens, Frederick ! then you must go instantly 
after it ! — How dare you be so careless and good-for-nothing ! ” 
continued she, turning to the unfortunate maid. 

“ I will do nothing of the sort,” answered Fred. ; “ we will 
telegraph, if you like ; but as it was all your own doing, I’ll 
thank you to scold no more.” 

Snubbed by Fred., what further indignity was she to suffer? 
****** 

They had a very kind welcome from Mrs. Frank, and a truly 
Beauvillian one from Mr. Frank, and in a genial glow of half- 
bustle and half-happiness, they were hurried up stairs to dress 
and prepare for an evening party. Mr. and Mrs. Frank were 
“ at home” that night to all the Beauvilliers. 

If ever there was a fresh, clean, beautiful, well-ordered, well- 
appointed house, it was Mr. and Mrs. Frank’s. Bright, blazing 
fires, neat-handed, swift-footed, smiling little handmaids, beauti- 
ful toilette appointments, green-painted spacious baths, and a 
general pervading scent of freshness and lavender, put every one 
into a high state of comfort and delight. 

Flo. had recovered her assurance, and being promised her 
missing box by the next day, was in high good humor. 

“ Really,” said she to 1 dear Fred.,'* “ I must go and see what 
Carry is about to wear. I cannot have her disgrace herself and 
us, by anything dowdy. Luckily I have brought more than 1 
shall want, and can lend her a headdress.” 

But the amount of finery spread out in all its glory on Carry’s 
bed, sent her back tamed and subdued for the evening. 

Think of Mr. Roystou making her such magnificent presents, 
and she knowing nothing about it, my dear Fred., until she opened 
the box ; and I never gave the man credit for a morsel of taste. A 
silk dress, Fred., couleur & Abricot, with such black lace flounces, 
and pomegranates for the hair, and a blue moire. O Fred.. 
Fred. ! just the dress I am dying for, and the nlOst beautiful 
brocade for the wedding-day. Well, one comfort is, however 
handsome Carry’s dress, she must look a dowdy, she, is such a 
figure. Law! before I’d be so fat — There! I declare that 
must be a carriage at the door — make haste ; of all things I 
like to watch the company being ushered in ; it is such a good 
time to look over their dresses.” 


858 


MARGARET 


There was a goodly assemblage of the Beauvillian family, and 
a very fine set they were to look at, but out of compliment to 
Lord Erlscourt, the whole of his family were asked to Beau 
Court, and were now being ushered in, under the strict surveil- 
lance of Mrs. Bankes. 

“ I suppose that is my lady,” whispered she to Carry, who 
looked very pretty and nice in her blue moire , rather to Flo.’s 
astonishment, and highly to the ’squire’s delight and admiration. 
u Well, I don’t think much of her. She may have been hand- 
some, but is quit epassee; bless me! there’s my Lord as defer- 
ential to her as if she was his own mother.” 

u O Flo. ! what handsome girls those are ! I declare I think 
they must be the Miss Fries, and so prettily dressed. Coral 
looks so well with white muslin.” 

“ My dear, I suppose they must be the Miss Fries, they look 
just like gypsies ” 

u O! Flo., that must be Margaret; see the beautiful head, 
half turned away. Now we shall see dear, dear Lotty.” 

“ My heavens ! if there is not that old Scotchwoman, with a 
gown and cap more staring than ever.” 

“ Do you think, Flo., that nice-looking, ladylike person, talk- 
ing so happily to the gentleman in. black, is ” 

u Why, it is Miss Leigh that was. How matrimony has im- 
proved her.” 

“ Mrs. Frank’s sister : no wonder she is nice then. I never 
saw a person I liked so much, and Robert is in such admiration 
of their house, and to-morrow I am to see the twins.” Carry 
paused and sighed. 

Luckily the ’squire passed by, and took the opportunity of 
whispering, u You look twenty per cent, prettier than she does.” 
The she was indicated by a look. 

“ Here are the Erie boys ; dear me ! Avhat fine, handsome 
young men they are grown. And see, there are dear Lotty and 
Margaret, too ; they are coming towards us.” 

u How lovely Margaret looks,” exclaimed Carry. 

u Black velvet is always becoming,” responded Flo., u but I 
declare Lotty looks like a little child, in that white muslin frock, 
and clinging so to Margaret.” 

Their schoolfellows now greeted them, and Mr. Royston 
observed with much pleasure, and no little pride, that both Lotty 
and Margaret told Carry they thought it very kind of her to 
come, as they knew she must feel a great deal at leaving her 
children. Also, in the course of the evening, he observed that 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


859 


Lord Erlscourt asked her to dance, a favor he did not grant Flo. 
And further, he overheard Brian remarking to Hugh, — 

u I did not know Mrs. Royston, did you ? ” 

“No, she looks as young again, without that horrid baby.” 

The next day they were all expected at Beau Court, and the 
company mustered more than ever. Lotty’s trousseau was to 
be displayed, settlements to be signed, and various little matters 
to be done, that are always requisite on the eve of a wedding. 
The number of Mrs. Beauvilliers appeared to be continually on 
the increase, until it became a hopeless matter to distinguish 
which was which. 

Lotty seemed to cling still closer to Margaret ; and though 
again in her simple white frock, an expression, half-awe, hall- 
fear, wholly sweet and tender, took from her face the childish 
look, and told but too truly that a woman’s heart dwelt beneath. 
In a few hours .she would have to promise vows, a love to last 
until death, a compact that only the grave would dissolve. To 
that little, faithful, truthful, magnanimous heart, this was no 
light task. Life or death could offer no more solemn act. 

Margaret had laid aside her usual black robes for this even- 
ing and the morrow. A full, flowing robe of silver gray swept 
its graceful folds around her ; a few delicate white roses clus- 
tered in the dark hair, and falling in long wreaths upon her fair 
neck, added such a queenly beauty to her appearance, that the 
spectators gazed only to gaze again, for fear the lovely vision 
might be seen no more. 

Lady Katherine rustled about in a silk that would have stood 
of itself, without her upright and stately old figure to support it. 

Mrs. Laird’s satin was certainly gorgeous, and if she had 
procured another for the ceremony of the next day, green spec- 
tacles would be required to endure the blaze. Mrs. Royston 
looked even prettier than the night before, in the couleur D' Ab- 
ricol , and black lace flounces. It was Mrs. Bankes who looked 
the dowdy, thought the ’Squire. The Miss Fries were hand- 
somer than ever, in flowing white tarletan, looped up with moss 
roses. 

But as for describing all the company, and all their dresses, 
and all they said and did, only the able pen of the chronicler of 
the celebrated marriage of Sir Charles and Lady Grandison can 
do that. A full and particular account of the trousseau might 
be given ; but then so varied, so different, so wonderful are 
people’s tastes, such a description might incur a great deal of 
censure. 


360 


MARGARET 


The sight of it was, however, properly appreciated by those 
who did see it ; and none showed their sense of such a favor in 
4 more pointed and particular manner than Mrs. Bankes. She 
gjazed at everything, touched all the silks, examined all the flow- 
ers, inspected the laces, counted the gloves and handkerchiefs, 
passed her opinion upon the whole ; and, after a long and 
eloquent dissertation upon trousseaux in general, and this one in 
particular, and the shock she had endured when she had learned 
that Lotty’s first marriage had been concluded without this indis- 
pensable and never-ought-to-be- omitted marriage article, and 
highly necessary part of the ceremony ; she was now bound to 
confess that the omission had been amply repaired — in fact, it 
was a wonder how so small a thing could require so vast 
a wardrobe. However, Lotty had nothing to do with that, and 
had only selected, out of all the things presented for her choice, a 
habit : Mrs. Bankes, not knowing this, of course gave Lotty 
credit for exquisite taste and judgment; but, properly speaking, 
the praise all belonged to the Beauvillians. The evening was 
further remarkable for the presentation of innumerable quanti- 
ties of presents, which it would be endless to mention here. 

However, a glad smile was seen stealing over the little, pale, 
somewhat anxious face of the bride as Bear appeared, and with 
infinite delicacy both of touch and judgment, as befitted such a 
gentleman, he laid on her lap a small parcel. Outside, it was 
directed “for Lotty,” and a furtive glance at Brian, showed that 
Lotty recognized his handwriting. Inside was written “ Bear’s 
present,” and the writing this time made Lotty glance at Hugh. 

Certainly Bear had shown great taste in his present : they 
were bracelets, consisting of two rows of single pearls, and on 
the clasp of one was a tiny likeness of such a handsome face, 
with fair curls and speaking eyes, that seemed to say, whichever 
way she turned them, “ I love you, Lotty.” 

Brian and Hugh underwent a pantomimic act of self-congratu- 
lation, as they saw Lotty’s brilliant blush of pleasure, and the 
quick, shy way in which she concealed her treasure; on the 
other was a most amiable, but canine visage, with deep, loving 
eyes it is true, but they only said, “ I am Bear, what do you 
want with me?” Lotty kissed this portrait openly, and then 
kissed Bear, and said, “Go and thank them for me, Bear.” 
Which Bear tried to do ; but Brian and Hugh would have no 
thanks by proxy. Said they to Bear, “ We will wait until to- 
morrow, then Basil has given us leave — ah ! you know what, 
don’t you, old fellow ! ” Then Queen Margaret put her present 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


361 


into Lotty’ s hand ; and it was a necklace to match the bracelets, 
but the clasp was deep blue enamel, with five large pearls con- 
fidingly resting on the bright surface, as if they were aware how 
the royal color showed off their matchless form and hue ; but 
Margaret touched a little spring — the blue sea, with its fair 
freight, disappeared, and there was a fairer pearl within — the 
lovely, loving face of Margaret. 

Ah ! Lotty was pleased, and she almost rose from her seat, 
and looked round for Basil, that he might join in her delight. 
He was close by, and his fair curls mixed with her dark ones, 
as she whispered her pleasure at that, and something else hidden 
in her hand — the honest face of Bear was permitted to lie ex- 
posed to every eye. 

“Ask Margaret to show you a present she had to-day,” said 
Basil. 

Margaret smilingly unclasped a brooch, something like the 
clasp of Lotty’s necklace, and, touching a spring as before, 
a bewitching little well-known face, with the curls all rumpled, 
as if the fingers had been running through them, with dazzling, 
glorious eyes, looking as if they said, “ My Queen Margaret.” 
Lotty beheld herself. 

“How could you have it taken without my knowing?” she 
said, blushing at its beauty, and laughing at Margaret’s pleasure. 

“ It was copied from the picture your poor father had taken 
of you, just before you went to school.” 

“ Then that makes it so childish-looking,” said Lotty. 

“ It is exactly like my Lotty at present, only her hair is per- 
haps in better curl.” 

“ Curl indeed ! ” said Lotty, beginning to look saucy, and 
then becoming more shy than ever. 

“ So Mrs. Bankes did get here, after all, Margaret,” said 
Basil, for he found it ineffectual to provoke Lotty any further. 

“ Yes, Pro. was so kind as to ask her, and really, Basil, upon 
the whole, she has been very good this evening ; and as for Carry, 
she is as nice as possible.” 


CHAPTER LXXVII. 


For twenty miles and more round Beau Court, no one sat 
still on this eve of the twenty-third of April, and it was supposed 


362 


MARGARET 


that few went to bed that night, for fear they should be too late 
in the morning. Everybody was to be at church at eleven 
o’clock ; but previous to that, Lord Erlscourt had sent up to 
inquire of the numerous handmaidens, if he might be permitted 
a few moments’ conversation with his bride. If all the reports 
of her appearance in her bridal dress were true, it was, indeed, 
only judicious that lie should see her, ere he met her at the 
altar. Every fresh person who came flying down the stairs, 
declared that never had such an exquisite little bride been seen 
before. Basil entered Lotty’s presence for the first time, on the 
morning so eventful to them both, as a bridegroom should. 

Serious and subdued in manner, as if he knew God was about 
to bestow on him one of his best, fairest, noblest gifts, yet did a 
serene joy beam from hia eyes. He knew full well that no 
light words were spoken between them ; and while he could 
hardly restrain his happiness, that at last he had not only gained 
the little wild thing to be his own sweet wife forever, but that 
her heart was wholly and entirely placed in his keeping, yet did 
he know one little regret, one sad thought afflicted her — she was 
no longer to be all in all to her Margaret. It was true, that her 
marriage gave Margaret the greatest happiness she could now 
know ; but such was Lotty’s love for her, one word of regret 
spoken would have proved that their love passed all other ; and 
this word even Basil would have forgiven, for Margaret’s sake. 

Certainly none of the partial judges of Lotty in her wedding- 
dress had overrated her appearance. Basil could have knelt 
down to admire the exquisite little figure, the lovely, blushing, 
innocent child-face — 

“ A rosebud 

Set with little wilful thorns, 

And sweet as English air could make her.” 

Her dress was of white lace, purest, finest, most valuable 
Brussels. That, all the Beauvillians had taken care should be 
the case. But, as she was not to be wholly in white, beneath 
she wore a silk slip of a pale pink, that shone through the folds 
on the lace dress like a blush rose. Round her slight throat 
gleamed a diamond necklace, on her arms the two matchless 
bracelets. Over those rich, luxuriant curls was a long, floating, 
gossamer veil, of such beauty and fineness, that it was fortunate 
for Lotty a curl or two strayed put of its place, to' assist the veil 
in hiding her face from Basil’s delighted gaze. But the “ little 
wilful thorns ” showed themselves. 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


868 


“ Don’t, Basil ; I will not have you stare so at me.” And the 
little, tiny, satined foot made a sort of faint attempt to stamp. 

“ You may let me look a little, my Lotty, on a sight I never 
saw before, and may not see again ; but I am glad to perceive 
you have your birthday presents on, because my wedding-gift is 
to match them.” And he showed some cases in his hand. 

“ This I shall keep a little while longer,” he said, displaying 
a diamond hoop ring ; “ but this you can wear, my Lotty.” And 
he gave her a brooch of diamonds to match the others. “ And 
this, too,” he continued, placing in her hands a circlet for the 
hair, of diamonds, so large and beautiful that each seemed a 
separate star. 

“ Thank you, Basil,” said Lotty ; but letting them all fall to 
the ground, she continued, in a low whisper, “ but you are sure 
you do not repent ; you love me ? ” 

“ Love you ! my heart’s treasure, my love, my wife-so-soon- 
to-be ! — you do not doubt it?” And he knelt down before her, 
with his arms clasped round her, so that she might read his 
truth in his eyes. 

She was satisfied apparently, for she drew her veil round her ; 
but he could see the flush of delight that crimsoned face, neck, 
and arms, even down to the small fingers. 

Luckily for the fate of Lotty’s dress, Mrs. Beauvilliers and 
Mrs. Laird came in, and shrieked at Lord Erlscourt’s profane 
touch, more full of love and delight than consideration for her 
toilet. So he was turned out peremptorily ; and when he saVv 
his bride again, the veil was readjusted, the circlet of star-like 
diamonds confined the rebellious curls, and, like all the rest of 
the numerous loving eyes, he thought a little Peri had stepped 
down from her airy home, “ to love and be loved by him ” for- 
ever. 

So the ceremony began, and even John Grey was satisfie^, 
for the clear, fluU-like notes, pronouncing the words, “ love, 
honor, and obey,” were heard at the other end of the church. 

After it was over, every Beauvillian would have deemed him- 
self aggrieved and injured if they had not one salute from the 
bride ; and as for Brian and Hugh, they, ©f course, being bride- 
groomsmen, had the first chance, and were not disposed to give 
up their claims to the stoutest Beauvillian there. 

“Thank you, Lotty,” said they, “that is much better than 
kissing Milly’s baby. Now you are our sister, and we are 
entitled to a fair share of brotherly salutes.” 

“ Come, boys,” said Basil, “ if you don’t make way for us to 


864 


MARGARET 


get out of this crush, I shall stop all your privileges for a year 
to come. I think I had better take you up in my arms, my wife, 
my darling ! and carry you out.” 

“ No, no, indeed, that you shall not,” said Lotty, indignantly. 

Brian and Hugh proved themselves good bridegroomsmen, 
and by dint of their exertions, the bride and bridegroom had 
way made for them to their carriage. Then Basil strewed hand- 
fuls of silver, and, taking advantage of the rush, he placed Lotty 
in the carriage, and sprang in after her. 

“ Now,” he said, clasping her close, “ mine forever.” 

But the joy and hilarity of everybody rose to such a pitch, and 
the little bride showed such fluctuating spirits, that Lord Erls- 
court privately ordered his carriage round an hour before the 
time appointed. 

As Lotty appeared in her dark-green travelling dress, her 
little straw bonnet, with white ribbons and violet flowers, the 
handsome chariot, with its four gray steeds and smart post- 
boys, who had all six been laying themselves up in lavender 
for the last month, to come out prancing and gay on this par- 
ticular occasion, drove up to the door — it certainly was 

“ One touch to her hand, 

One word in her ear ; ” 

for, without one word, without an adieu, Basil lifted his wife 
into the carriage, jumped in after her, the steps w ere up, the 
door shut, the magic words, u all right!” said, and away 
bounded the carriage, — with the servant clinging behind, and 
Bear careering his best after it, a great favor hanging over one 
ear — just as if they were all impelled out of sight by four 
express engines. 

The amiable Beauvillians were dumb-struck, and only Brian 
and Hugh had wits remaining to throw an old shoe, for luck, 
after the fast receding carriage. But at least they had seen 
Lord Erlscourt’s face as he sat down by his darling, his bride, 
his wife. At all events, they had heard the tones of his voice, 
as he turned to her, and said, — 

“ My wife, now my own Lotty ! ” 

And so, feeling that they had done a good deed that day ; that 
they had seen, by their girl’s face, that she was happy ; they re- 
sorted to the only thing left them, namely, to shake hands w r ith 
each other, and indulge in boundless self-congratulations. 

This they continued to do without cessation and with renewed 
vigor, commencing again and again, when word was passed that 


AiND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


365 


everybody must prepare for dancing. So rooms were cleared, 
the band — or bauds — sent for, gloves tried on, lamps lighted, 
and everything in a high state of commencement by seven or 
eight o’clock. 

The gentle, stately Margaret was borne off in the powerful 
grasp of a mighty Beauvillian, and found herself flying, with 
resistless speed, down the long rows of a good, old-fashioned 
country dance. 

The dignified old Lady Katherine was in the strong hands of 
another Beauvillian, and was seeu bobbing up and down, out of 
all tune and place, but intensely delighted and happy. 

Mrs. Laird, spite of her strict Scotch notions, found herself 
panting and breathless at the bottom of forty couples, without 
ever having been able to bring in a word of remonstrance at the 
extraordinary and wonderful position in which she was placed. 

The pretty Miss Erles, one with a most devoted partner, and 
the dark, but still handsoine-looking mother, met at all corners, 
all turning of hands, and setting of partners ; while, as for Brian 
and Hugh, they only reached the bottom of the long country 
dance, to bow to their late partner, and snatch a new one, and 
rush up to the top to begin again. Mrs. Bankes and the ’Squire, 
and Mr. Bankes and Mrs. Royston, Were to be met everywhere ; 
and Dr. Laird finding it impossible to keep his wig on in the 
respectable • state of rectitude that Mrs. Laird deemed proper, 
had at last thrown it off altogether, and was to be seen with 
rubicund face and shining bald head in every direction. Even 
the little, fair, tiny twins, under the able superintendence of their 
delighted father, were performing a sort of extemporaneous dance 
of his and their concoction, in a remote corner. 

After an alarming quantity of dancing, there w r as supper, and 
after supper speeches, in which every Beauvillian assured every 
other person this was the happiest day of their lives ; and every 
other person cordially agreed. 

Then ensued such mutual compliments, such reciprocity of 
sentiments, such a chorus of praises and interchange of good 
wishes, that every man supposed, and every lady, too, that they 
were sitting next to the dearest friend they had in the w r orld, 
save and except the bride and bridegroom. 

Then dancing commenced again, fast and furious. Margaret 
and Lady Katherine Were the first to retire ; but, lo ! it had 
sounded five of the clock ere Mrs. Laird could tear herself 
away — in fact, she 'would have deemed it rank heresy to the 
honor of the day had she given in sooner than auy of the others. 


366 


MARGARET 


Wearily she crawled up stairs, shocked to see daylight beginning 
to peep through the shutters ; and, as she tied on a nightcap of 
vast frills and long winding strings, thus she discoursed to the 
good doctor, who had discreetly gone to bed an hour ago ; bm 
was possessed with a vague, uneasy notion that he had left his 
wig under the stairs. 

“ Ech, doctor ! but these are wonderful folk. They started 
i’ the morn afore the first meal a shaking hands, and wad 
ye believe it, they are aye at it the noo, at this awfu’ hour 
of night, or if I spak God’s truth, the morn o’ anil her day ; 
what wi’ dancing, jigging, and shaking hands, I am amaist 
dune. I ne’er thought to gang on i’ this fashion at ony time 
of my life, least ways the noo, and me just o’ the stroke o’ 
threescore. But they wadna be refused ; one was aye o’ the 
floor, jigging avva wi’ ane of them stout fine auld gentlemen, 
and no to hear a word of 1 will ye, nill ye.’ Aye me. The 
doctor’s no minding me, he’s just fast like any baby, and 
nae wonder. More betoken I kenned he was a bit unsteady, 
and there’s nae doubt but he has a hail bottle under his belt. 
And hoo I am to ca’ shame on him i’ the morn is past ma 
kenning, for deed it was nae mail’ nor respectful an proper 
of him to glorify the day.” 


CHAPTER THE LAST. 


Carry was sitting by her fire, also prepared for bed, about the 
same hour that Mrs. Laird delivered the last sentiment ; she 
was far from tired or sleepy — on the contrary, deeply buried iu 
thought, when Flo. burst into the room. 

“It is shameful the way in which Fred, behaves! He will 
not come to bed, though I am as tired as a dog ; and just as 
I get into a nice sleep, he will be rattling up, making such a 
noise ; — but what are you sitting here for, instead of getting 
into bed ? ” 

“ I am waiting to rub Robert’s shoulder. We could not bring 
his man, and ever since his accident, the doctor ordered it to be 
rubbed with White’s oils.” 

“ Mighty conjugal, indeed I He might have let you off this 
one night.” 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 367 

“ Of course he would ; but he has been so kind to me, I wait 
at my own wish.” 

“Well, I do hope, Carry, you will regard what I tell you, 
and think less of your babies and more of him.” 

Carry smiled. 

“ A man that can go and give his wife, in one day, four or 
five beautiful dresses, and scores of other things besides, is not. 
to be despised ; mark my words, Carry.” 

“Flo., I smiled to think of your ever having given me such 
advice — I don’t remember it. But I wished to speak to you. 
The last/ three days have made me think more than I ever did 
before, Flo.” 

“ It is high time you should begin to regard something be- 
sides those brats.” 

“ Do you notice Mrs. Frank, with those darling little twins, 
Flo.?” 

“ I must allow they are very pretty, nice, little, well-behaved 
children.” 

“ Do you see how she puts their papa forward in everything, 
making them love and respect him as the first of human beings, 
though he is so distractedly fond of them? ” 

“ He would spoil them past everything, but for her, Carry ; it 
is lucky she has no more — I don’t think he would have eyes for 
any other child.” 

“ True, and that shows how judicious she is. Do you re- 
member how we laughed at and despised the poor Misses Leigh, 
for being odd old maids ? and now how different they are.” 

“ Fred, said he never saw such a well-managed house as Mr. 
Frank’s ; and did you taste the curry? — even Pierre could make 
nothing like it.” 

“ And to see Mr. Grey with his wife ; no wonder, Flo., I sit 
here and think.” 

“ Well, live and learn, Carry. I am delighted to find that, at 
last, you take counsel by me.” 

“ I beg your pardon, Flo.,” answered Carry, with spirit ; “ so 
far from taking your counsel, I have been calling to mind 
a conversation I once had with you. Do you remember the 
avenue at Court Leigh ? You and I were there, and poor Au- 
gusta. Ah, Flo. ! whenever I think of that fine, handsome girl, 
and her sade fate, I cannot but weep.” 

“ Very ridiculous of you ! she fully deserved it.” 

“ Why, Flo., I have been thinking you and I have not con- 
ducted ourselves much better.” 


368 


MARGARET 


“ Speak for yourself, if you please,” answered Flo., in high 
indignation. 

“ Then I say this : on that day on which we walked up and 
down the avenue, you compared Augusta, yourself, and me with 
Millicent, Margaret, and Lotty. I agreed with you in thinking, 
not only that they were sadly to be pitied, but owed much of 
their fate to their own folly. And we all three agreed, poor Au- 
gusta, you, and I, that we would not change places with them ; 
and now, Flo., within these three days, within this hour, I have 
been wishing I was even as good as Mrs. Frank.” 

“ And a very proper thing, too,” interrupted Flo. 

Augusta died a horrible death,” continued Carry ; “ and you, 
Flo., can you still say you are better than the three schoolfellows 
we despised? Do you think your husband loves you as he 
ought ? or that he will continue to pay you even due respect — 
(pray don’t be impatient with me) — if you go on in your 
present habits ? All his family dislike you, and think you are 
the real cause of the troubles he has fallen into ; and you know, 
Flo., there is more truth in that ” 

“ And, pray, what do you think of your own precious self? ” 
interrupted Flo., in her hottest mood. 

u I shall have nothing to say for myself, if I do not take 
timely warning. Indeed, I shudder when I reflect that, but for 
this visit, but for Lotty’s fortunate wedding, my eyes might never 
have been opened, I might have alienated dear Robert forever.” 

u Truly, a most wonderful loss ” 

u Do not be angry, Flo. ; I feel sure you must reflect, when 
we compare our situations now. Millicent, as ever, retains a 
place in the estimation of all who know her, that none can envy 

her, she so truly deserves it. And Lotty, Flo. ” 

Lotty was always unlike any one else,” allowed Flo., rather 
pettishly. 

“ What a vast amount of love have we seen poured out upon 
our little child-schoolfellow ! so spontaneously bestowed, does it 
not speak and say, . 4 None more worthy?’ But, Margaret ! — 
ah, Flo. ! who can look at her, and not wish to be better? 
With a stricken look in her eyes, with her heart half in heaven, 
how she still treads the earth among us, our queen and head. 
Iler grief is not selfish, though so great, for how gently does she 
interest herself in all our concerns. She said I was very good 
to come, and leave my children ; and, smiling, added, that 1 
should be pleased to see the difference a few days made in them. 
No advice, Flo., no hints, but this little remark, to remove (I 


AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 


369 


know she thought) any pain I might have for doing so. And 
you, Flo., when Mr. Bankes was complaining yesterday of the 
long time you kept him waiting, she spoke for you as one sister 
would speak of another, and your husband listened, and thought 
kindly of you then, Flo., for none can gainsay the saintlike Mar- 
garet. Though she has lost her Harold, and will carry to her 
grave a riven heart, yet who would not wish to be her? And as 
that cannot be, Flo., it seems next best to me that we should 
begin a good deed on Lotty’s wedding day, with God’s help — a 
deed that Lotty will herself love and foster. It is, so to act 
that we may prove worthy to have been 


“ Margaret’s Bridesmaids.” 




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